A Life No Less Important
by bambers2
Summary: Dean is seriously injured on a routine salt and burn, and it's up to Sam to figure out just what happened. As Sam delves deeper into the mysterious past of a suicide victim for answers, Dean learns his life is no less important because of his injuries
1. Chapter 1

_So, this story is totally written, and i should be posting like every few days or so, hope everyone enjoys!!! let me know what you all think!! thanks for reading, bambers;)_

_A Life No Less Important_

_Chapter One_

"You plannin' on burnin' that freakin' corpse anytime tonight, Sammy?" Dean hollered, wincing as he was thrown into yet another gravestone by Markus Branson's angry spirit, his lower back taking the full brunt of the impact. The heavy gravestone slid of its base, fell to the ground and cracked into several large pieces.

"Just a few more seconds, Dean," Sam hastily replied as he pulled himself out of the grave, and searched his pockets for matches.

Rolling to his side, Dean shakily made his way back to his feet, noticing at the same time the name Edgar Stone on the now broken grave marker. Although he didn't know exactly why, there was something about actually destroying the old stone epitaph that sent a shiver of remorse coursing down the length of his spine.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a brilliant flare of orange as Sam struck a match and threw it into the six foot deep hole in the ground. Dean hardly had time to breathe a sigh of relief when Markus' spirit rushed toward him, a fiery trail of ash following in its wake. Once again, Dean was thrown backward toward Edgar's grave. With a short cry of alarm, Dean stumbled and fell backward, cracking his skull against the base of the tumbled down marker.

Dean glanced up through bleary, watery eyes and saw a dark shadowy figure hovering above him, obscuring his view of his brother, but within an instant it dissipated, and Sam was kneeling by his side. Vaguely, he thought he'd heard Sam's voice calling his name as he slowly drifted into darkness, but couldn't find the will to respond.

An uncomfortable feeling of numbness filled his entire being as he was dragged further down into the spiraling nothingness that beckoned him, and now along with Sam's distant voice, he heard another. It grew louder, overshadowing all else. As Dean listened to the words the deep voice uttered, a sense of deep foreboding entered his hazy mind.

_A life no less important. It is my gift to you. Do not waste what has been given to you. You will regret it if you do._

"Dean. Come on, Dean, wake up." Sam held Dean in his arms, his throbbing head cradled against his little brother's shoulder.

Slowly Dean's eyes slid open, and he blinked rapidly to clear the white specks of light clouding his vision. He noticed the look of concern clearly etched on Sam's face, and couldn't help but grin. "We're so not gonna have one of those chick-flick moments here, are we, dude?" he weakly mumbled, his voice sounding strained to his own ears.

Sam's relief was instantaneous, and Dean could feel the warm rush of air against his cheek that his brother expelled upon seeing that Dean was all right. "You were out cold for like ten minutes, an' I was really starting to get worried."

"M'okay, Sammy. Nothin' a hot shower and warm bed won't cure." Dean tried to shift into a sitting position but found it all but impossible to do so. Not wanting to worry his little brother any further, Dean quickly covered by saying, "Just need a few seconds to regroup, and then we can get the hell out of here."

Quirking a brow, Sam stared at Dean, his hazel eyes searching Dean's, and Dean could tell he didn't believe him.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, Samantha, I'm sure. Now can you let go of me so I can get up?"

Sam took one last look at Dean, let out an aggravated groan, and moved to stand. Without the support of his brother holding onto him, Dean fell backward, but luckily caught himself before his throbbing head hit the ground again.

His brother stood towering above him, shaking his head and glaring at him. "You're not okay, Dean. You can't even sit up on your own."

"Told you I was fine," Dean snapped, lifting himself up on bent elbows. It wasn't exactly a lie. He really didn't feel in that bad of shape, sure his arms and chest were a little sore from being tossed around by Markus' spirit, but he'd been in a lot worse pain before in his life, and wasn't about to complain over something so insignificant as a couple of bruised ribs.

"Fine," Sam said with a curt nod of his head, "then stand up."

"What the hell, Sammy, told you I was okay so stop playin' nursemaid."

"I said, stand up. You make it to your feet, and I'll leave you alone."

"Whatever, dude." Dean propped himself up further on his outstretched arms, and then tried to bend his right leg, but found it wouldn't budge. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at it, trying to will it into a bent position, but still couldn't manage it.

"I'm waiting, Dean." Sam angrily crossed his arms, and after a few more seconds, added, "why can't you just admit you're hurt?"

"Cause I'm not," Dean angrily shot back, certain he was right. Yet as he again and again tried unsuccessfully to raise his legs, a tremor of true panic surged through his body, and he couldn't shake the feeling as if something was truly wrong with him. Fearfully, he realized that he should be in pain, was always in pain after a long night of hunting, but yet he couldn't feel anything below the middle of his back.

_Okay, this is so not happening. I'm fine. This can't be happening to me. _Dean rolled to his side, mentally willing his right leg to follow so he could stand, but it remained still and lifeless. _Damn it, come on. Move you stupid freakin' leg._ Sweat beaded on his forehead and the nape of his neck as Dean pushed hard against the ground with his arms, his body arching, but his legs remained useless. _Just move a little. Come on, please don't let this be happening to me. _

Sam crouched beside him, and Dean saw his own fear echoed in younger brother's eyes. "Dean, what's wrong?" he asked, the panic in his voice clearly evident.

Dean didn't want to tell him, didn't want to let his brother know how terrified he was at the thought of what had happened to him, but knew he really didn't have any choice. He tried one last time to stand, to no avail, and finally gave up. "Sammy . . . Sam, I . . . ." his voice trailed off, the words forming on his lips too distasteful and loathsome to say.

"Please, just tell me what it is, dude," Sam coaxed, eyes wide and sorrowful, and Dean found it all the more difficult to say what he had to say.

"Can't — "

"Can't what?"

Dean swallowed hard against the thick lump forming in his throat. "Can't feel my legs . . . can't feel anything below the middle of my back."

Sam remained quiet for several seconds as he absorbed the information Dean had just reluctantly shared, and allowed it to sink in, and then he gave a curt shake of his head. "It's not permanent, Dean. It can't be. We have to get you to a hospital, and they can figure it out."

Terrified they would confirm his suspicions that he was indeed paralyzed, Dean muttered, "Really don't want to go to the hospital, dude." He'd always hated going to hospitals, and in his experience, he knew nothing ever good came from going to one, and this time seemed like it wouldn't be any different.

"Huh, you don't." Sam shook his head in disbelief. Scrubbing his hand across his face, he continued, "Okay, you get up and walk out of here, and I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Hell, I'll even drive your sorry ass all the way to the Grand Canyon. But if I have to drag you outta here, the only place you're going is to the hospital." Sam hesitated, a frown creasing his brow, and just when Dean thought he wasn't going to say anything more, Sam added, "Please, Dean?"

It was said in such a forlorn manner, Dean couldn't find the words to refuse. Lowering his head dejectedly, he conceded. "Okay."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam sat in the far corner of the waiting room, impatiently drumming his fingers on his thighs, waiting for some word as to how his brother was doing. People passed him by unnoticed as his thoughts remained solely on Dean, and he was certain he would go out of his mind if someone didn't come and give him some information soon about his brother's condition. _Damn it, he has to be okay. Why the hell couldn't I have just been a little faster burning Markus' bones? If I had, Dean wouldn't be hurt right now._

It had been nearly three hours since Sam had brought Dean into the hospital, and his brother was whisked away in a flurry of activity, yet no one had reemerged from the ER to talk to him yet. The longer he sat there, the more his fear increased. _What if he can't walk anymore? What if he has to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair? Oh, God, this is all my fault_._ He's never gonna forgive me._

Not able to sit still any longer, Samstoodand began pacing back and forth. Every once in a while, he would pause, glance in the direction of the emergency room, wait a few seconds hoping to see a doctor emerge from behind the double doors, and when none did, he resumed pacing. Finally at the end of his patience, he stormed over to the reception desk, and pounded his fist on the counter, garnering the attention of an old gray-haired nurse.

"Can I help you, sir." She smiled politely.

"I brought my brother, Dean Chichester in here well over three hours ago, and haven't heard anything about how he's doing."

The nurse glanced down at her paperwork, shuffling through it until she found Dean's name, and gestured to it with her index finger. "I'm sorry, sir, we've been backed up all night . . . six car pile-up on the interstate and three house fires, so it might take a little longer than expected. But I can assure you, your brother is receiving the best possible care."

Placing both hands on the counter, Sam leaned forward, glanced at her nametag and then looked her square in the eyes. "Don't really care about who else is receiving medical attention at the moment, Marge. I want to know how my brother's doing. And I want to know it now." He leaned a little further toward her, eyes narrowing menacingly. "So I would suggested you find someone to talk to me, or so help me God, I'll bust down those freakin' doors and find out for myself."

At the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him, Sam whirled around and came face to face with a tall dark-haired doctor who couldn't have been much older than Dean. "Don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Chichester." The doctor held out his hand to shake Sam's, but when Sam made no move to take hold of it, he returned it to his side. "My name is Doctor Morgan, and I've been in charge of your brother's care since he was brought in earlier tonight."

"How is he?" Sam asked in a breathless rush. "When can I see him. Is he okay?"

"He just signed his release papers, so I imagine you'll see him shortly."

"So, he's okay then? He got the feeling back in his legs?" Sam let out the pent breath he'd been holding, relieved that his brother was okay and able to go home. But whatever relief he'd momentarily felt, vanished in a hurry when he saw the doctor's lips press together a tight grim line. "He is okay, right?"

Lowering his head, the doctor flipped through the pages on his clipboard, and then looked back up at Sam. "No, he isn't alright, Mr. Chichester, although we're not exactly sure yet as to why he's paralyzed. Our findings on his MRI and CAT scans were inconclusive. We've determined exploratory surgery is the best course of action, but your brother refused treatment."

"What do you mean, he refused treatment?" Sam exploded in anger, heat rising up to flush his face as he stared incredulously at the older man. "You can't just let him leave."

"We have no choice in the matter, Mr. Chichester. Your brother signed the papers, and unless you're willing to go to court and have him deemed mentally incapable of making his own decisions, our hands are tied."

In that moment of utter frustration, Sam balled his hands into tight fists, wanting nothing more than to slam them into the older man's face, or at the very least, he wanted to drag him back into the ER and force him to perform the surgery on Dean. But he knew it wasn't the doctor's fault. No, the blame lie solely with his older brother who would rather pretend there was nothing wrong with him.

"So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just let him stay the way he is and hope it goes away?"

Doctor Morgan shrugged and looked sympathetically at Sam. "I would say you should try and talk him into the surgery, but from the short time I've known him, I think you'll have an uphill battle on your hands. He was extremely insistent that he wasn't undergoing surgery."

"Oh, he's freakin' gonna — " Sam stopped short, seeing his brother in a wheelchair being wheeled out of the ER by a pretty young nurse.

Dean glanced in Sam's direction briefly then returned his attention to flirting with the young blond-haired nurse. But in that one fleeting second, Sam saw the seething anger flash in his brother's green eyes directed solely at him.

_He blames me for this. _Sam gave a slight nod in understanding. _But how the hell am I supposed to make things right if he won't even try to get better?_


	2. Chapter 2

_So new chappy, should have posted this earlier but i've been really busy!! so, hope everyone is enjoyit so far!! bambers:)_

_Chapter Two_

Dean felt the weight of his little brother's angry glare on his back as Sam pushed his wheelchair toward the Impala, although he refused to acknowledge it. He knew Sam was furious with him for not agreeing to undergo surgery, but Dean wasn't about to let some doctors slice him open and possibly make matters worse than they already were. Besides, Dean noticed how baffled the three conferring doctors appeared when all his tests came back inconclusive. Hell, he'd even heard one of them speaking of a case study, and wasn't about to become a lab rat for their research.

As they rolled up alongside the passenger's door of Dean's car, Dean got his first real taste of what being trapped in a body without working legs meant, and he grimaced. Sam opened it for Dean, and went to help him into the car, but Dean recoiled from his touch.

"Can do it myself," he snapped, and glared at his little brother. "I'm not a freakin invalid . . . ." his voice trailed off as he realized that was exactly what he was. "Just leave me the hell alone. Don't need your help."

"Was just trying to — "

"Think I get what you were trying to do, Sam." Dean hadn't meant to be so curt with his brother, and instantly regretted it, seeing the sad dejected look in Sam's hazel eyes. None of this was Sam's fault, Dean knew that, but still couldn't help feeling bitter as he had to crane his neck to look up at his brother. "Just let me do it myself, okay?" he said in a much softer tone.

"Yeah, sure, Dean."

Sam backed away, but his steady gaze remained locked on Dean. His muscular arms were slightly outstretched as if at any moment he expected to have to catch Dean before he fell and hurt himself. It was a simple gesture, one Dean was pretty sure Sam wasn't even consciously aware of doing, but it grated on his already taut nerves, and made him feel like a toddler taking his first steps with his overprotective mother hovering over him.

Trying his damnedest to forget about his brother's presence, Dean braced one hand on the wheelchair and the other against the leather seat, slowly lifted his body and carefully slid over into the Impala. It took a lot longer and more strength than he'd expected to move the short distance, and he was nearly exhausted by the time he'd finally settled onto the seat. A deep scowl creased his brow as he had to pick up his left leg and move it into the car, the dead weight of it just another reminder of what he'd lost. With the back of his hand, Dean swiped away the sweat dripping down his forehead, and then proceeded to move his other useless limb into the vehicle.

_There. That wasn't so hard. _He smiled with grim satisfaction. His arms trembled with the effort it took to move himself just those few feet, but he'd be damned if he'd let his brother notice how much it drained him physically to do so. "You coming, or do you plan on sitting outside the car all night staring at me?"

Sam folded the wheelchair the hospital had loaned them, and opening the backdoor, placed it inside. He then went around to the driver's side and slid into Dean's usual seat, shut the door, and adjusted the rearview mirror to accommodate his height difference. Casting a sidelong glance at Dean, he said, "You know, it doesn't make you any less of a person to have to ask for help every once in a while. Everyone needs it at some point."

Dean turned his head to look out the side window, not wanting Sam to see how badly his words affected him. "Been gettin' in and out of this freakin' car since I was a little kid without any help, and I'll be damned if I ask for it now."

He fought back the tears stinging at his eyes, not wanting to give into the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that was quickly settling into his soul. His heart ached with a loss he was only slowly beginning to comprehend, and felt as if he were being swallowed whole by bleak hopelessness, but as he turned back to his brother, he smiled. "Sorry, Sammy," he hesitated, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger to wipe away the tears before Sam had a chance to notice. "Didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just tired and need a good hot shower."

"I know," Sam muttered, then opened his mouth to say more, shook his head, and shut it again.

He'd expected his brother to say more, expected the mother of all chick-flick moments, but Sam returned his attention to driving them back to the motel, and didn't say another word all the way there.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

By the time Dean managed to get out of the car on his own, he was so tired he didn't think he had any strength left to take a shower. But he was still determined as the muscles in his arms were screaming for relief from all the strain they'd been forced to endure. Sam opened the front door and moved aside so Dean could enter, then followed him in and closed the door.

Dean immediately headed for the bathroom. "I get the first shower," he called back over his shoulder as he wheeled into the tiny bathroom. Rolling forward, he turned the chair and rolled back to shut the door behind him. He looked at the shower, and what had seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago, now felt like a good swift kick in the gut.

Drumming his fingers against his thighs in aggravation, he tried to figure out how he was going to get in and out of the shower by himself. _Even if I somehow manage to get in there, how the hell am I supposed to take a freakin' shower?_

His gaze wandered to the toilet tightly sandwiched between the wall and the sink, and panic welled inside him at the thought of having to ask Sam for help. At nearly the same time, a light rap came at the door, and Dean instinctively knew his younger brother figured he needed the help. _Damn it, I'm not an invalid. I can do this on my own. _But as his gaze shifted from the shower to the toilet again, even he could not deny he needed it.

"Dean," Sam's low voice came from the opposite side of the door. "Open the door."

"No, Sam." Dean shook his head although he knew his brother couldn't see the gesture.

"We can get another room. One that's handi — one that has better bathrooms."

"Don't want another room."

Sam was quiet for a moment, and Dean could sense his brother's growing frustration. When he spoke again, his voice was strained, and he sounded as tired as Dean felt. "Then let me help you."

Dean swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat, and angrily brushed away a tear slipping down his cheek. "You gonna help me go to the bathroom, Sam?" He glared at the white porcelain that seemed to mock him, and then shifted to look at the equally bright shower stall, hating the feeling of helplessness both evoked within him. "What then, dude? You gonna take a shower with me? Wash me up? Take care of me like I'm some freakin' little baby?"

"Just trying to help — "

"If I wanted your help, I would've asked for it."

There was another long pause, and Dean could almost picture his brother's big sad puppy dog eyes as he stood there trying to figure out what to say next.

"Dean?" With that one single word, Sam conveyed all he was feeling, and it tore at Dean's heart to hear his brother so close to tears.

Scrubbing his hand across his face, Dean drew in a deep breath, and slowly released it, trying to regain his composure, and was glad his little brother couldn't see his disheartened expression. "Yeah, Sammy?"

"I'm so sorry, Dean. If I'd been just a little faster . . . I mean, this is all my fault . . . and I just wanted — I . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off, and Dean heard him brush up against the door.

"Not your fault," came Dean's tight-lipped response as he glanced down at his useless legs, and his anger ignited again.

"Tell me what to do, Dean . . . don't know what to do or say. How do I make this right?"

Dean unlocked the door and opened it. Glancing up at his brother, who looked ridiculously tall from Dean's vantage point in the wheelchair, he shook his head then lowered it. "Nothin' you can do. Need to figure this out on my own."

Without waiting for Sam to respond, Dean wheeled away from him, and headed for the bed nearest the door. He frown as he stared at the dark blue comforter, and then at the entrance to the room. He'd always chosen to sleep closer to the door so if anything tried to attack them at night, he would be able to protect Sam. His stomach twisted in knots realizing he could no longer be his brother's first line of defense . . . that Sam would have to be his.

"Want me to take that bed?" Sam asked, more than likely realizing what Dean was thinking.

"Yeah, take it," Dean muttered more to himself than to Sam, trying hard not to let this little thing bother him. "Not like it makes a difference."

Sam stalked to the bed and stood beside Dean, not about to sit until he was sure Dean was really okay with it. "It's just a bed," he began only to falter, his gaze straying to the pillow Dean kept his knife under, and then slowly returned his attention to Dean. "It really means nothing."

Pursing his lips, Dean glanced up at his brother and gave a curt nod. "Twenty-three years means nothing. Huh, nice to know. Maybe Hallmark makes a card for this occasion." His eyes narrowed, brows pulling together to form a scowl. "Think it would probably go something like this; Hey, sorry to hear you're paralyzed, but look on the bright side, at least now you don't have to sleep in the bed by the motel room door anymore."

"Didn't mean it like that."

"Really? You didn't?" Dean rolled his wheelchair to the head of the bed, grabbed his knife out from under the pillow, and placed it in his lap. Backing up, he awkwardly turned, nearly bumping into his brother before wheeling to the other double bed.

"Dean — " Sam tried again, but Dean cut him off.

"Don't try telling me it doesn't matter. You have no freakin' idea how much it really does, Sammy. So don't just stand there trying to make things all better, cause from where I'm sitting, you're doing a real freakin' shitty job of it."

Turning his back to Dean, Sam slumped down onto the bed, shoulders sagging, and said in a near whisper, "You're right. But I don't know what else to say . . . and I'm trying here, but everything comes out wrong. And I know it matters to you . . . and for what it's worth, I'm sorry." Sam drew in a shuddering breath, and then continued, "Believe me, you have no idea how truly sorry I am."


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey all, new chappy posted...hope you all enjoy!! let me know what you think!! reviews are like gold to me!! thanks for reading and for the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Three_

Sam lay awake in his bed listening to his brother's steady breathing. He was pretty certain Dean was still up, but didn't want to test his theory by actually talking to him. It seemed as if everything he said, his brother found fault with, and Sam just didn't have the mental strength to go another round with him at the moment.

Sleep eluded Sam for fear Dean would need his help during the night, although he was fairly sure his older brother would never ask for it even if he did. But the truth of the matter was, Sam knew at some point, no matter how stubborn his brother was, he would have to go to the bathroom. So he quietly waited.

After their last argument, Sam had gone into the small bathroom to get ready for bed, and noticed there was hardly any room in there for Dean to maneuver around in, and mentally berated himself for not insisting they move to another room that was handicap accessible. And as he stared up at the ceiling, he slowly realized all the changes they would have to make if Dean's paralysis was permanent, and his heart broke for his brother all the more.

"Sam," came Dean's voice from out of the darkness. There was a quiet pleading in his tone, and Sam could just imagine the look of utter mortification on his face.

"Yeah, Dean?"

There was a long pause as Dean shuffled uncomfortably in his bed, and Sam knew he was gathering his courage to speak.

"I need to . . . ummm . . . I have to . . . that damn bathroom's way too freakin' small, and I just . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off, and Sam's quickly got out of bed to help him.

Sam said nothing as he helped his brother out of bed not wanting to add to his humiliation. He felt a slight tremor course through Dean's body, and understood that his brother was very close to losing whatever control he held over his emotions. And without Dean having to ask, Sam left him once he'd assisted Dean into the bathroom and waited outside the door until he was finished.

Hearing the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by Dean turning on the water in the sink, Sam waited a few more moments to go back inside, wanting to give Dean enough time to collect himself. After gathering his own courage and masking his fears so Dean wouldn't see how much it was killing Sam to see him like this, he returned to the bathroom, and helped Dean back to his bed.

"Sam . . . I'm — I didn't mean. . . ." Dean's voice wavered as he glanced up at Sam, and Sam saw the regret and loss so clearly etched in his brother's green eyes. "You know, what I said before . . . earlier, I didn't mean it."

"You don't have to explain, I understand." Sam tried his best to persuade Dean from continuing onward, but his brother stubbornly refused to let the matter drop.

"Want you to understand why I refused to have the surgery."

"I think I know why."

"No," Dean shook his head, "you don't."

Straightening Dean's pillows to make him more comfortable, Sam helped him into a sitting position, and then sat beside him. "Then why?"

Dean hesitated for several moments as he looked Sam in the eyes, and Sam was certain that he'd changed his mind as his older brother was never one to willing share his deepest thoughts. So when Dean finally spoke in startled Sam.

"Cause if I don't have the surgery I can still believe this will all go away, and I need to believe that. I can't be like this forever, Sammy. I just can't. . . ." his voice hitched in his throat and then trailed away. Dean lowered his head as his emotions became too painful, and Sam was glad for it because he couldn't stand seeing his brother in so much pain, and feeling as if he were losing all hope.

"The surgery could help, Dean. You don't know that it won't."

Dean shook his head, but still didn't look at Sam. "You weren't in there with me, Sam. There was a lot of mention of old scar tissue, fluid buildup, and the possibility of bone fragments wedged in my spine. None of it sounded good." He drew in a deep staggering breath, and slowly released it, trying his best to remain calm, but failed miserably. "And so when all the tests came back inconclusive, I figured that was my one in a million chance, and I'm just not ready to give up on it yet."

Sam nodded in understanding, not sure he would have reacted any differently if it were him in the same situation. "So we wait then. I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want to do."

"But what if I'm really just pissing away my one shot by not having the surgery?" Glancing around the room, his steady gaze finally settled on his wheelchair, a deep frown settling on his features. "What if I have to accept that I'll never . . . ."

"You're a gambler, Dean. You've spent your whole life beating the odds, and this time will be no different."

"Wish I could believe that, Sammy."

"I can do some research. There must be something we can do." Sam knew he was grasping at straws when his brother needed so much more. But it was all he could think of, and to be truthful, it would make him feel better if was actively trying to help his brother instead of just sitting there doing nothing. "We know things doctors don't know. Have seen things they'll never understand, and if there's an answer out there, I'll find it. I swear to God I will."

Looking at Sam, Dean smiled, although it never reached the depths of his eyes, and faded all too quickly. He shifted restlessly in his bed, and leaned back against his pillow, now looking anywhere but at Sam.

"I'm tired," Dean said, in a short curt manner which left Sam to wonder what he'd said wrong this time, but then reasoned that his older brother was probably dead tired after all he'd gone through.

"Alright, why don't you try and get some rest, and will leave here tomorrow to find a better motel."

Dean just nodded in response, and closed his eyes, ending any further conversation.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean awoke abruptly, the sound of a man's voice echoing inside his mind, but couldn't make out the words he was saying. His body trembled and was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The gray t-shirt he was wearing, clung to his chest, and was nearly soaked.

He grimaced, knowing he would either have to ask Sam for help taking a shower or forgo it, and neither idea appealed to him. It was one thing to ask Sam for help last night, but quite another to have his younger brother help him in and out of the tub. And quite honestly, an actual shower was out of the question, and Dean hadn't taken a bath since he was probably six years old, and really didn't like the sound of it. Women and children took baths, men . . . and especially hunters took showers, or at least that's what Dean told himself.

Glancing over to where Sam should have been sleeping, Dean instead found his brother sound asleep in his wheelchair, his feet propped up on the end of Dean's bed. Instinctively, Dean knew his brother couldn't have just accidentally fallen asleep there. Sam's chin was resting against his chest as he slouched down in the metal contraption, and Dean had to grin, thinking of the sore neck his brother was going to have later because of his obvious attempt to keep Dean in bed until he woke up.

His grin slowly faded as a feeling of anger welled up inside him. Sam had purposely trapped him there, knowing full-well that Dean would be completely helpless without his wheelchair, and would have to wake him up. It was sneaky and underhanded, and worked like a charm, or so his little brother thought, but Dean would be damned if he was staying put until Sam decided to wake up.

Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, Dean looked around the small expanse trying to determine how best to get out of bed without waking Sam. Not spotting anything that would be of much help, Dean grabbed hold of the bedside table, with one hand and pressed his other against the bed, and slowly slid his body to the edge of the mattress. Losing his grip, he dropped to the floor with a thud. He peered up over the top of the bed, and noticed that although Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he didn't wake up.

_Okay, so I'm on the floor. On the floor and really kinda stuck here, this was so not a very good idea. _He dreaded the thought of having to once again ask his brother for help, knowing how angry Sam would be when he awoke to find Dean on the ground instead of in his bed. So instead, he pushed himself back up, awkwardly swivelled around, and began the slow and arduous task of inching himself across the room toward the table and chairs near the door.

After what seemed like forever, he finally made it to the chair closest to him. Sweat streamed down his face and back as he repositioned himself right in front of it, reached behind himself, and took hold of the wooden seat. With muscles straining, he slowly lifted himself up onto it, and pushed himself backwards when he was at the right height, smiling broadly at his own accomplishment.

_Not so damn helpless. _He gloated for a moment until he took in the short expanse he'd actually traveled, and how exhausted he now felt, and all sense of accomplishment dwindled away. _How the hell am I going to do this? _He angrily wiped the sweat from his brow. Glaring at his brother's back, Dean's stomach clenched, and he forced himself to look away, not liking that a small voice in the back of his mind blaming Sam for what had happened.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he called out to Sam, "mind gettin' the hell out of my chair."

Sam's head snapped up, and he first searched Dean's bed to find him, and then he swung to stare at him, a brilliant smile lighting up his tired features. "You walked, Dean?" he breathed a sigh of relief. "I knew it couldn't be permanent. I just knew it."

Cocking a brow, Dean narrowed his eyes to gaze menacingly at Sam. "No, Sam. I _didn't _walk here, but seein' as how someone thought my wheelchair made for a better bed, I was forced to crawl over here."

His brother took in what he'd just said, glanced from the bed to the table, and swallowed hard, the muscle in his right cheek jerking as he looked back at Dean.

"Why didn't you wake me up? I would've moved."

"Why the hell would I do that? You looked so damn comfortable in your attempt at keeping me trapped in one spot."

Brows pulling together, Sam stared at him in confusion, and then he raised them as understanding dawned on him. "It wasn't like that. I swear. I fell asleep on accident. I wasn't trying — "

Dean held up a hand to stop him from speaking any further. "Whatever, dude. Just get the hell out of my chair."


	4. Chapter 4

_So, another chappy, hope everyone is enjoying!! let me know what you think, i just live for reviews!! thanks so much to everyone for reading this and all my stories!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Four_

Sam had no idea what the hell to do. He saw the look of blame clearly etched in his brother's glistening eyes, and noticed how he trembled with scarcely controlled rage. To say he was sorry again would be pointless, and truthfully didn't even begin to cover the overwhelming guilt he felt. And saying sorry wouldn't make his brother walk again, and he doubted his brother would accept the stupid apology anyway.

He needed to somehow make this right, and as he'd always done in the past, he'd turned to the one thing he knew best. Research. So last night after his brother had finally fallen asleep, Sam had stayed awake, and surfed the net in hopes of finding some sort of miracle for Dean, and at the time he didn't really care what it involved. But what sounded extremely good at four-thirty in the morning somehow lost its appeal when reflected upon in the sunlight, and he was back to square one.

Slowly getting to his feet, Sam tilted his head from side to side, and then rubbed the nape of his stiff neck, trying to work out the kinks. Stretching the rest of his aching muscles, Sam stifled a yawn, and ran his fingers through his scruffy bangs, pushing them out of his face.

"Want me to go and get some coffee, and maybe something to eat?" he offered, pretending he didn't hear his brother's biting remarks. "And then maybe after, I can help you get a shower," he added, noticing his brother's damp shirt and streaks of mud on his face from their hunt earlier the night before.

He grimaced as he recalled that they'd gone out earlier than usual to dig up Markus' grave because Sam hadn't been feeling well, and wanted to get done with it early so he could get back to the motel to catch some sleep. Dean had grumbled about the risks of getting caught at such an early hour, but finally relented. Now Sam was plagued with nagging doubts that if they'd gone out later like they'd always done in the past, his brother might not have gotten hurt. _This is my fault. This is all my freakin' fault. He must hate me._

Noticing his brother hadn't responded to his offer yet, had actually just sat there glaring icily at him, Sam tried again, "So, you want me to get you some coffee?"

"No, Sam," Dean began in a low menacing manner, crossing his arms defiantly as he continued to glower at Sam."Was thinkin' maybe I'd go get my own coffee, so why don't you give me the keys to my car, and I'll just trot over to the diner across town and get it."

Sam lowered his head, no longer able to stand the look of hatred in his brother's eyes when Dean looked at him. "So you do want coffee then," he mumbled dejectedly, "I'll go get some." He grabbed his hoodie and quickly headed for the door, before Dean could say anything else.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Hearing the door close behind him, Dean let out a low string of curse words, berating himself for how badly he'd just treated his little brother. He hadn't meant to be so cutting, but watching his brother stand there, stretching and doing everyday normal things while Dean was stuck in a chair, had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Dean had instantly regretted everything he'd said, but couldn't seem to stop himself from spewing even more venomous remarks, and was actually glad that Sam had left when he did before Dean said something he wouldn't be able to take back.

As he sat staring at the stupid metal contraption in front of him, Dean wondered why this had happened to him. Was it some sort of divine punishment for somehow failing to protect innocent lives? He'd always tried his damnedest to save as many lives as possible, and somehow it just didn't seem fair that he should be punished for it. _Why me? Can you explain it to me? _Letting his head fall back on his shoulders, he glanced heavenward.

"What the hell did I do to deserve this? I've spent my whole damn life looking out for others so they could live their lives without having to know the things I know." He looked once again at the hated wheelchair, and scrubbed his hand across his face. "And this is what I get for it. If this is some sort of punishment, then tell me what I have to do to make things right. Tell me what I have to do to walk again."

Dean waited, listening and hoping that somehow something would respond to his plea, but the room remained deathly quiet. "I can't live like this . . . I just can't. How can I protect Sam if I can't even protect myself? Just tell me what I have to do. I'll do anything . . . just please don't let me stay like this." Still no solution to his problem presented itself to Dean, and he nodded in grim understanding. "So much for divine intervention."

He grabbed his wheelchair, wheeled it toward himself, and slowly edged his way over onto the seat. Once accomplished, he snatched his leather jacket off the back of the wooden chair, and headed for the door. Dean wasn't exactly sure where he was planning on going, but knew he didn't want to be at the motel when Sam returned. He'd already hurt his brother enough in the past few hours to last him a lifetime.

Outside, he looked around trying to determine which direction he wanted to head, and spotted a park across the road. In the distance, he could make out a lake, the shimmering water reflecting in the bright sunlight, and decided to go there. At the road, he stopped and waited for several cars and trucks to pass before he was finally once again able to move onward.

Taking the path that wove in and out amongst the trees and flowering shrubs, Dean came to a fork in the blacktop walkway, and turned toward the lake. The path sharply declined the closer he got to it, and Dean had to scrabble to learn how to slow himself down before he ended up face first in the cold water. His hands burned as blisters bubbled and broke on his palms, but he wasn't about to turn back or admit defeat after coming so far. Not that turning back was really an option at this point as it would mean going uphill, something Dean hadn't considered as he started down it.

Finally he reached the bottom and slowed to a stop to take a look around. For a weekday there were a lot of people milling around: mothers with small children; men and women walking hand and hand beside the calm lake; and old people walking their dogs. But the person who caught Dean's attention was a young woman with shoulder-length wavy sandy-brown hair. She seemed very relaxed in her surroundings, every once in a while brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face or readjusting the baby blue blanket she had drape over her legs. He watched intently as she shielded her eyes with her hand and glanced out over the lake then lowered her head to draw something on the sketch pad in her lap.

After going through every possible argument in his mind as to why he shouldn't try to strike up a conversation with her, Dean finally worked up his courage and headed toward her. He rolled up alongside her, and cast a sideways glance in her direction.

"You're really good," he said, gesturing toward the picture she was drawing, and felt like a complete fool for having mentioned it. _Like she needs me to tell her, her artwork is good. What the hell do I know_. "I mean, your drawing . . . I'm not an artist or anything, but I know what I like."

"Thanks." Biting at her lower lip, she tilted her head to look at him. "Not one of my best though." She smiled, and her incredible sea-green eyes caught the light and reflected like shards of broken glass. She pointed toward the middle of the lake where two people were sitting in a rowboat, and frowned. "Can't quite get them right, and it's bugging the hell out of me."

"Looks pretty damn good to me."

"Yeah, but you're not an artist, are you." She chuckled, and he realized she was joking with him, and he suddenly felt at ease in her presence.

"My name's Dean . . . Dean Winchester."

"Nice to meet you, Dean Dean Winchester. Kinda strange that your middle name would be the same as your first, but parents can be cruel." She grimaced, and Dean was afraid he'd somehow offended her. "My name is Beth Carlson. Which doesn't sound too bad until you learn your parents named you after and old Kiss song or that you were conceived in the parking lot of the stadium Kiss was playing at."

"Beth," he softly said her name, liking the sound of it as it rolled off his tongue. "It's a good song. Kiss isn't one of my favorite bands, but they're not bad. A little on the theatrical side for my taste."

"You should wear gloves," Beth said, quickly changing the subject.

"Huh?"

"Your hands." She took his hand in hers and gently blew on the broken blisters. "At least at first anyway."

"Yeah," he hitched his thumb back over his shoulder, "kinda realized that about halfway down that hill."

"Yeah, that hill's a bitch. I usually take the long away around," she pointed off to her right, and continued, "sure it's a little longer, but after I ended up face down in the cold November water the first time, I decided it was well worth the extra effort." She laughed as she recalled her own mistake, and Dean found himself smiling as well. "Nothing like a little cold water to teach you your limitations."

Dean's smile faded as he watched her more intently, trying to determine if he could detect any bitterness in her words, but found he could not. "So, you haven't always . . . you weren't always — "

"Always what? This devastatingly beautiful?" Her smile broadened. "No, I went through that whole gawky awkward walking phase."

"How did it happen?" Dean knew he was overstepping his bounds, and feared she might take offense to his line of questioning, but she seemed so self-assured he needed to know that he could someday feel the same way about being paralyzed.

"Car accident," Beth's smile faltered for the briefest of moments, her eyes losing some of their sparkle. "Drunk driver hit me head on. He walked away without a scratch, and I never walked again." She shivered as a stiff breeze blew in off the water, and wrapped her blanket closer around her legs.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried." Noticing that she was still shivering and not wanting her to leave, Dean shrugged out of his coat, and gently placed it around her shoulders.

"No, it's okay. My life's no less important just because I can't walk anymore, although it did take me quite a while to figure that out."

Something about what she'd just said struck a faint memory, but of what Dean couldn't fathom. He could've sworn he'd heard it before somewhere, but as quickly as it came to him, it slipped away, leaving him empty and hollow inside.

"You weren't angry or bitter?" he asked as he settled back in his seat, and looked out over the water.

"I was very angry, Dean. I lost everything because some jerk decided to get behind the wheel drunk," she hesitated, and when Dean turned to look at her, he saw tears shimmering in her eyes. "I took it out on the people who cared about me the most, and pushed them away until I had no one left."

Dean cocked a puzzled brow. "Then how did you ever get to where you are now? You seem so . . . you are incredible."

She smiled at the compliment, then pursed her soft pink lips and shook her head. "I'm not that incredible. That trip I said I took down the hill wasn't necessarily on accident." She lowered her head to stare at her drawing, and then glanced back up at Dean. "Thought if I couldn't swim back to dry land then that would be the end of it. But just my luck, someone came a long and pulled me out. It was my second chance, and I took it."

"I'm glad they did or else I would never have gotten the chance to meet you."

"You are the flatter, Dean," Beth jested, seemingly not the least bit affected by his charm. "Wish I had more time to talk to you, but I have to be heading back to work. If I leave my employees alone for too long, they tend to destroy the place."

"You own your own business?" Dean asked completely in awe of the woman who sat beside him.

"Yeah, Carlson's Graphic Designs. I'd always liked creating things and so after the accident I took some courses at the local college. I found out I was pretty damn good at creating webpages, and so after school, I started my own business." She glanced at her watch, and frowned.

Beth took off his coat and handed it back to him. "Well, Dean Dean Winchester, I really have to go, but it was nice meeting you."

"Okay," Dean said reluctantly, not really wanting her to leave yet. "Do you come here often?" He gave her his best winsome smile, hoping to get the chance to spend more time with her at some point.

"Everyday, Dean, about the same time as today."

"Would you mind if I came to talk to you some more . . . maybe tomorrow?"

"It's a public park, don't think I could keep you away from here even if I tried."

"If you'd rather I didn't — "

"I was kidding. I'd love it if you came back tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

_So, new chappy...sorry about the delay...life has been getting very busy!! thanks for reading!! if you are liking the story please let me know!! reviews are like gold to me!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Five_

"I'm back, Dean," Sam called out as he entered the motel room and noticed his brother wasn't there. His brother's jacket was missing, and as he set the two coffees and their breakfast down on the table, he saw Dean hadn't even bothered to leave a note. "Damn it, Dean, where the hell did you go?"

He was torn between going after his brother, knowing Dean would be pissed that he did, or just waiting patiently until he decided to return. Sam thought of all the places his brother might have gone, but after each place popped into his head, he quickly dismissed them. _He couldn't have gone too far, and its too early for most bars to be open yet. Maybe I should just give him a little time on his own. I only seem to make him angrier whenever he's around me._

In the end, Sam decided to wait a little while longer before he headed out to search for him, and instead pulled out his laptop to do some more research on Markus Branson. The facts behind Markus' death were somewhat sketchy at best. He'd apparently overdosed at some college frat party, and by the time the ambulance had arrived he was already dead.

There had been some speculation that someone had tampered with his drinks, but nothing was ever proven. But most people agreed that he'd never done drugs before. If he had been murdered it would explain why he'd become a vengeful spirit, but still wouldn't explain Dean's paralysis. So as far as Sam was concerned, Markus was off his list of possible solutions to their current problem.

Sam didn't even want to consider the doctor's explaination for why his brother couldn't walk. He'd dealt with the supernatural his whole life, and for some unknown reason this felt more supernatural than medical to him. Yet, he did have some nagging doubts that he just wanted it to be that way so he could hunt down whatever was hurting his brother, kill it, and Dean would be normal once again.

He'd given thought to possible possession by some sort of demon, but quickly dismissed it. Most demons would make their victims more powerful, not cripple them, at least not while they were using their bodies anyway. The thought of hoodoo also came to mind, but again he didn't think it highly likely.

Dean had been fine until he'd gone to the graveyard, and so if something supernatural was going on with him, it had to have happened there. Sam typed in the name Pleasant Acres Cemetery and cross referenced it with paranormal activity. A few hits came up, and he clicked onto the first one.

There had been several accounts of a dark shadowy figure who seemed to stand guard over one particular grave, and if anyone got too close, it would chase them away. Yet as hard as Sam searched, he couldn't find the name of who's grave it belonged to.

The other links all held the same accounts of the shadowy figure who watched over the grave in the dead of the night, but once again, no one knew who was buried there. Although on the last link, he did find the name of two of the people who'd witnessed the apparition and quickly jotted their names down on a scrap piece of paper.

After he was finished, he typed in violent deaths and paralyzed victims, and cross-referenced it with the cemetery, but nothing came up. He deleted Pleasant Acres Cemetery hoping that might provide some results, but still nothing came up on the screen. After trying every possible combination, and still coming up with nothing, Sam shoved the laptop away from himself in frustration.

Vaguely, he wondered if Markus had been the apparition they'd seen, but most of the accounts of his haunts were more violent in nature. The spirit these people wrote about seemed as if it was protecting or waiting for someone, and couldn't move on until it had found them or fulfilled its obligation.

A sound at the door, brought Sam out of his musings, and was relieved to see his brother enter a few moments later. Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief noticing Dean didn't appear as angry as he had when Sam had left early, and was glad he'd decided to let his brother have some time alone to think.

"Where ya been, Dean? Your coffee's cold by now."

Dean glanced at the coffee and bag of food on the table, and then at Sam. He hitched a thumb back over his shoulder, and said, "Went to the park."

Sam raised a quizzical brow. His brother never went to parks willingly. He thought they were boring places where old people and little kids chose to go. "You went to a park?"

"Yeah, what did you think? I went to a bar at ten-thirty in the morning?"

"Well, it would seem a little more like you."

Rolling his wheelchair over to the table, Dean grabbed the bag, opened it, and yanked out a powered doughnut. "Actually thought about it, but figured there wouldn't be any open yet," he said, between mouthfuls.

"Dean?" Sam hated to bring up what happened at the cemetery, but if he was going to try and find a possible solution to what had caused his brother's paralysis, he needed to know if anything strange had occurred that he hadn't noticed.

"Yeah?"

"Did anything out of the ordinary happen last night? Something beyond Markus' spirit attacking you?"

His brother swallowed down his last mouthful of his doughnut, and scowled at Sam. "You mean besides me being paralyzed?"

"Dean, I'm just trying to help."

"Maybe this is just something you can't help me with. Maybe this is just how thing are."

"You don't believe that." Sam shook his head, refusing to believe his brother would give up so easily. "That's not the Dean I know. The Dean I know would be questioning everything that happened last night, looking for an answer." Sam saw the anger ignite his brother's glistening green eyes, and knew he'd pushed too hard, but it was too late to back down.

"The Dean you know also walks, Sammy. I'm not that Dean. So forgive me if I'm not questioning being thrown into gravestones by some damn vengeful spirit."

"But you had to of heard something, felt something . . . seen something. Something that wasn't Markus."

Dean's expression changed as he listened to his brother, eyes narrowing in confusion, lips slightly pursing. "I broke a grave marker, and felt . . . oh, I dunno . . . sorta odd. Almost like guilty or remorseful."

"And you didn't think to tell me that?" Sam asked, feeling a small rush of relief.

"Wasn't really thinkin' about it as I was trying to drag my ass of the ground, Sam."

"Do you remember the name on it?"

"Yeah, Edgar Stone."

Sam opened his laptop, and turned it on, and searched for Edgar's obituary. When it came up on the screen, he read the important parts to his brother. "Says he died suddenly eight years ago, which in our line of work is never a good sign. He was a highly decorated police officer at one point in his career. He is survived by his two children, Mary and Anna."

"Did he die in the line of duty?" Dean pushed the chair next to the table aside and moved closer to Sam.

"Doesn't say, but if he was decorated there would be newspaper articles about it." Sam typed in Edgar's name along with police department, and several links came up. He clicked on one pertaining to his being honor for heroism above and beyond the call of duty, and skimmed through it. "Seems as if he shot in the line of duty while trying to talk an armed robber out of hurting innocent victims. It says he saved the lives of seven people who were being held hostage in a local convenient store."

"Doesn't seem much like the type to become a vengeful spirit to me."

"That doesn't mean he couldn't have become one."

"It doesn't?"

"No, it just means he was good at his job."

Sam clicked back to the list, and scrolled down until he came to the heading, '_Officer found dead in home, apparent suicide'. _He clicked on the link, and they both read through it.

"The man hung himself," Dean said, when he was finished reading, "I would say that makes him vengeful spirit material."

"True. You don't remember anything else, do you?"

Dean shook his head, and then paused, biting at his lower lip. "Something was hovering over me. Like a dark shadow, and then I felt numb."

"So maybe Edgar's our guy?"

"Could be." Dean looked hopeful, a small smile gracing his features as he latched onto their new lead as if it were his only chance to regain what he'd lost.

"We could talk to his daughters. Maybe they could shed a little light onto why he might've killed himself."

"Sounds good," Dean said, somewhat distractedly, eyeing the bathroom, and shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but didn't say what was utmost on his mind at the moment, leaving Sam to bring it up.

"I'll help ya," he simply stated, then stood and wheeled his brother into the bathroom, assisted to his needs, and discreetly left, to wait until Dean needed him again. "I'm gonna pack our stuff so we can find another motel," he called out, from the doorway.

"We're not leaving here," Dean called back. "Find us another room, do what you gotta do, but I'm staying here." Dean didn't elaborate any further as to why it was so important that they remained where they were, but Sam could tell by the tone of his voice that he meant exactly what he said.

"Alright, Dean, I'll find us another room."


	6. Chapter 6

_guh...so sorry for not posting next chappy of this sooner!! i am so behind!! hope everyone enjoys...bambers;)_

_Chapter Six_

Luckily the Mainstay Inn had handicap accessible rooms, and within three hours, the boys had moved in, and Dean finally got the chance to take the shower he'd been so desperately wanting since the night before. At first he found it a little awkward to be sitting while showering, but as the hot water massaged away all the tension in his taut muscles, he began to relax.

Lathering up the soap, he vigorously scrubbed all the dirt and grim off his body, and then rinsed. Next, he shampooed his hair, working it through his short scruffy hair to get all the caked in dirt out, then showered off, letting the water spray down over his face and body. It was the best he'd felt since the accident had happen, and he was grateful for it.

But as he sat there for a while longer, he realized it wasn't really the best he'd felt since he'd lost the ability to walk, when he was with Beth was. She didn't ask anything of him, didn't expect him to protect her, she was just there, and she understood what he was going through. And even now, he found himself counting down the hours until he could see her again.

He couldn't tell Sam that Beth was the reason he didn't want to leave, although he was sure on some level his brother would understand. Yet, for some reason, he liked the idea that she was in no way connected to his life as a hunter. It made her pure and innocent, not tainted by the evil he'd seen in his life, and he wanted her to remain that way even if it was only in his mind.

Absentmindedly, Dean thought about her soft pink lips, and wondered if they would taste as good as they looked, and that thought consumed him until he could think of nothing else. He imagined himself drawing her into his arms, and gently caressing her as his lips sought out hers, and found he loved the idea of it. _But what if I try to kiss her and she pulls away? What if I make a complete fool out of myself, and she never wants to speak to me again?_

Dean didn't want to even consider the possibility of her not liking him anymore. In her quiet unassuming sort of way, she had wrapped herself firmly around his heart, even though he'd just met her. And in a way it was odd, but for some reason it made perfect sense to him.

Turning off the quickly cooling water, Dean grabbed a towel from the rack beside the shower, and dried off. He quickly slipped his black t-shirt over his head and pulled his arms through, and then slid over onto his wheelchair to put on the rest of his clothes. After he'd finished, he left the bathroom to find out if his brother had turned up anymore information on the whereabouts of Edgar's two daughters.

"Find anything yet, Sammy?" he asked, and noticed his brother jumped a little, startled by the sound of his voice.

"Huh?" Sam glanced up from the computer screen, and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Wanted to know if you located either of Edgar's daughters yet?"

"Yeah. Mary lives about forty-five minutes from here, and Anna lives in Boston."

"You got an address for Mary?"

"Eighty-five Meadow Lane. It's off of Manset Road. Figure we can head out there tomorrow morning."

"I can't go tomorrow morning," Dean said evasively, not wanting to miss an opportunity to spend time with Beth.

"Why the hell not?" Sam's frustration with Dean was clearly evident in his deep brooding expression, lips pressed firmly against his teeth, eyes narrowed, and brows pulled together to form a deep V in the center. "You got a hot date at nine o'clock in the morning or something?"

"You can handle it by yourself, Sam. I've got something I have to do."

"And you don't plan on telling me what that something is?"

Shaking his head, Dean replied, "No. Not right now anyway."

"Can you at least tell me if it's the reason you were so hellbent on staying here?"

"Yeah, it's why I'm staying here."

Sam nodded, seemingly accepting his response, but then asked, "Does it have anything to do with your paralysis?"

Dean thought about his brother's question for a moment, trying to figure out for himself if it did or not, and couldn't quite determine the answer. "It has everything to do with it, but then again nothing at all."

"Thanks for shedding some light on that, Captain Oblique."

"Don't know what else to tell you, dude. There's just something here that I'm just not ready to leave behind yet, but I promise I'll tell you about it someday."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he brushed his fingers through his hair, and then gave a curt nod. "Alright, I'll go by myself, but if you need me for anything at all, you better call."

"Okay."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean took the long way around the park as Beth had suggested the day before, and found that it was a hell of a lot easier. He found her sitting in almost exactly the same spot as she'd been in the day before with the same blue blanket wrapped around her legs. She was busily sketching the lake, oblivious of the people strolling by her. Impressed with the way she could just block out the whole world and create her own through her artwork, Dean smiled. At the same time, however, he hated to see people pass her by without giving her a second glance as if she didn't rate their attention.

He pulled up alongside her, put on the brakes so his chair wouldn't roll forward, and then quietly waited for her to finish what she was working on. While he waited, he marveled at how she would draw a shadow on the surface of the lake, and smudged it in with her index finger to complete the effect she desired.

"You're really good at that," he finally said to break the silence.

She turned her head to look at him, and smiled, her whole face lighting up at the compliment. "Years of practice. Used to come here with my parents as a child, and would sit for hours just drawing. Always loved to draw." She set her pencil down on her lap, and gave Dean her full attention. "What about you? Have any interesting hobbies?"

Dean tried to think of something he would consider a hobby. His father hadn't really ever given him much of a chance to develop an interest in anything other than training. And in later years, he was too busy hunting to actually consider doing anything just for himself.

"Come on, Dean. Everyone has a hobby or something they've always wanted to try. Don't let me be wrong about you."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"I just imagined you doing something kind of wild and reckless for fun like extreme motor-crossing or oh, I don't know, maybe wrestling alligators." She chuckled, the soft sound of it filling the air and also Dean's heart, and he couldn't help but laugh right along with her.

"Yeah, you figured me out. Been wrestling alligators since I was like five, but they now seem a little tame by my standards. An' they're actually a lot harder to find than most people think."

"Huh, really. So you can't just find them in sewers after people flush them down their toilets?"

"Nope."

Beth raised one hand and placed the other one over her heart. "Then I solemnly swear to never again read another tabloid. If they lied about that then they're probably also lying about someone spotting seventy-year-old Elvis Presley eating peanut butter and bacon sandwiches at a local diner in downtown Manhattan."

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' that's pretty much a lie too."

"I like you, Dean Winchester. You make me laugh."

She rested her hand on top of his, and Dean felt a peculiar swirling sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was something he'd only felt only one other time in his life, and that was with Cassie. Yet, with Cassie it had taken a lot longer for his feelings for her to emerge, and he wondered why it would be so different with Beth.

"I like you too, Beth. You make me forget things that I don't want to remember. Even if only for the shortest time."

Beth turned, and he met and held her steady gaze, mesmerized by the way she unconsciously licked her slightly parted lips. Slowly he leaned closer to her, wanting nothing more than to just kiss her once, but all the while, worrying she wouldn't feel the same. She moved a little closer to him, but when they were nearly face to face, Beth hesitated and drew back away.

"I haven't kiss a guy in a long time, Dean, and I don't want you to break my heart. I don't think I could stand it."

Dean swallowed hard, his heart hammering away inside his chest as he looked deeply into her sea-green eyes, and was lost to the turbulence he saw in their depths. "I don't ever want to break your heart. I just want to make you happy." A single tear slipped down her cheek, and he gently wiped it away. "Please let me kiss you."

She wavered for a few more seconds and then leaned back toward him. Lightly brushing his fingers across her cheek, his hand slowly trailed backward to her to rest on neck as he gently pulled her closer to him. He licked his lips as he watched her, waiting for her to pull away again or to give him some sign that she didn't want to continue any further. When she didn't move away, he leaned the rest of the way in and brushed his lips against hers, feeling as if at any moment his heart would explode as it was beating so rapidly.

The kiss deepened and he found himself wanting more, needing more, and crushed her body more firmly into his. She moaned softly and relaxed into his arms, and as much as he wanted to stay like that forever, he ended the kiss and backed away before it led to something he knew she wasn't ready for.

Beth looked up at him, confusion clearly etched in her shimmering eyes, and he had the overwhelming urge to draw her back into his arms, and kiss her again.

"Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head, swallowing hard. "No, you couldn't possibly do anything wrong," he said in a deep throaty whisper, and was surprised how strange his voice sounded to his own ears. "It's just . . . I don't know. . . ." his voice trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say.

"It's just what, Dean?" She arched a delicate brow, and wait patiently for him to respond.

"It's just that you dazzle me," He gave her his best smile, "you utterly and completely dazzle me. And I don't want to do anything to ruin that."

"No one's ever said that to me before," she smiled back at him, "I kinda like it." Beth glanced down at her wristwatch, a frown creased her brow. "Dean, I have to go."

"Don't go, Beth," he coaxed, grabbing a hold of her hand, lacing in his fingers in between hers, "just stay a little longer."

"I'd like to, but I really can't."

Dean nodded in understanding. "You'll be here tomorrow, right?"

"Told you, I come here everyday, rain or shine."

"Then I'll be here, too."

"Good, I'll be counting on it."


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

Sam knocked on the door of Mary Stone-Gallagher's two story Cape Cod style home, and waited patiently for someone to answer. Finally, a little girl with braids in her long brown hair opened the door, and her head dropped back onto her shoulders as she looked up at him.

"You're really tall, mister. You look like you could be a giant."

Sam chuckled. "That's what my brother always tells me. Only he says freakishly tall, but I like how you say it better."

"Kari, I told you never to open the door to strangers," came a feminine voice from inside the house, and a few seconds later, a woman appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a dish towel.

"Sorry, momma, but he's not a stranger, he's a giant like in that story you read to me about the beanstalk."

She gave Sam an apologetic look and then guided her daughter away from the door, and back inside the house. "I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, it's on the kitchen table."

"Strawberry or grape?" Kari asked, crinkling her nose when she said the word grape.

"Strawberry."

"Good," she said, and then glanced up at Sam one more time. "Bye, Jack, hope the fall from the beanstalk didn't hurt too much."

"Didn't hurt a bit, giants are made of rubber so we bounce."

"Really?" Her big blue eyes widened, brows disappearing underneath her wispy bangs.

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone, it would ruin the story."

"I won't, cross my heart." She crossed her index finger over her heart, smiled at him, and then darted away to go and eat her lunch.

"Sorry about that," Kari's mother said, looking a little frazzled. "Jack and the Beanstalk is her favorite story."

"Not a problem." Sam smiled awkwardly at her, knowing she wouldn't be happy with the questions he was about to ask her, and wished Dean was there with him. "Are you Mary Stone-Gallagher?"

"I am. Is there something I can help you with?"

"My name is Sam Chichester and I'm writing an article for the International Board of Psychology on the adverse affects of stress on those who work in what would be considered highly dangerous professions." He hesitated, seeing her smile turn quickly to a frown. Clearing his throat, he continued onward, knowing he needed to find out why Edgar killed himself for Dean's sake. "In the past twenty or so years, there has been a vast increase in the amount of suicides amongst local law enforcement officers, and it is our objective to set in place a new system of standards to detect and intercede whenever we determine someone is in crisis."

"And what does this have to do with me?" she replied crisply, crossing her arms in front of herself.

"Your father was Edgar Stone, right?"

"Yeah, he was, but I still don't see what this has to do with me."

"What we would like to determine is if there were any underlying risk factors the department overlooked at the time. We'd also like to ascertain if there were changes in your father's personal behavior before he died, so we can better help those in need in the future."

Mary shook her head, pursing her lips in anger. "Unfreakin' believable. You people have a lot of nerve coming here asking questions about my father when the police department fired him after twenty-two years on the force."

"Your father was fired from his job?" Sam's brows drew together in confusion. "From my records, it shows he was a highly decorated officer."

"Yeah, he was shot in the line of duty, and was forced into doing a desk job afterward."

"I take it, he didn't like doing that?" he asked, trying to disarm her with one of his most beguiling smiles, and saw her features soften a bit.

"Hated it. But it wasn't only that."

"What do you mean?"

Mary moved further into her home, and gestured for him to come inside. "Come on in. I'll tell you the whole story so hopefully what happened to my father won't occur again."

Sam followed her into the livingroom, and took a seat on the couch. Mary walked to the fireplace, took down a picture from the mantle, brought it over to Sam, and took a seat beside him.

"This is my father. He was the bravest man I ever knew."

Sam looked at the picture of the dark-haired man with a kindly face and eyes the same color as Kari's, and for some reason couldn't picture the man killing himself. "Why did the police department fire him?"

"After he was shot, my father was in a lot of pain, and was on prescription pills to alleviate some of it."

"That's understandable."

"And then there was an accident, and a huge scandal over the whole thing." She paused and drew in a deep breath, then continued, "Although nothing was ever substantiated, they let my father go. No pension. No nothing, after he'd given them everything."

"Accident? What kind?"

"A car accident. A several people were injured, and they blamed my Dad."

"And no one died in the accident?"

"No, mostly minor injuries from what I recall."

"Did your father's personality change after being fired?"

Mary shrugged, and Sam could tell she was trying to the best of her ability to recall the events leading to her father's death.

"I don't recall him changing that much, although he did seem sad every once in a while." She stared at Edgar's picture as she tapped her fingers nervously on her knees. "There were a few times when I caught him looking at a newspaper clipping, and there were tears in his eyes. But when he noticed me, he quickly folded it and put it in his pocket."

"And you never found out what the article was about?"

She shook her head. "No, shortly after that, my sister Anna and I came home from a school function, and found him dead in the garage."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam reflected on everything she'd told him, grimacing when he realized that none of it would help his brother. _There has to be something I'm overlooking? Edgar has to be the cause of Dean's paralysis. He just has to be._

"What kind of injury did Edgar sustain when he was shot?"

"The bullet lodged in his upper arm causing severe nerve damage, so he could no longer fire his weapon."

"But no paralysis?" He could tell by the quizzical look on her face that she thought it was a strange question, but at this point, Sam didn't really care.

"No. He did have some numbness in his fingers, but not paralysis."

"I think I have everything I need for my article." He stood, and she followed suit. "If you can think of anything else, or if perhaps your sister knows anything about that article your father had could you give me a call." Sam pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket along with a pen, wrote his name and phone number on it, and handed it to her.

"Not sure she would, but I'll ask her tonight when I talk to her."

"I'd really appreciate it," he said, trying not to sound too disappointed. "It would make for a more rounded picture of your father's psychological state at the time of his death."

"Alright, I'll let you know, one way or another," she said as she led him to the door.

"Thanks." He shook her hand, and then headed toward the Impala. He dreaded the idea of going back to the motel having learned nothing useful from his conversation with Mary, knowing how badly his brother was going to take the news.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

On his way back to the motel, Sam stopped at a diner and picked up lunch, hoping to soften the blow of his bad news with Dean's favorite foods. When he entered their room, he noticed Dean stretched out on the bed, remote in hand, restlessly flipping through channels.

"God, I'm glad you're back," Dean said, heaving a sigh of relief. "There's absolutely nothing on television, although I did see some slicy-dicy thing on an infomercial that looked kinda cool. Almost called and ordered one."

"You hungry, dude?" Sam asked as he set the brown paper bag containing their meals on the table.

"Starving." He sat up, slid over onto his wheelchair, and wheeled himself to the table, pushing a chair out of the way so he could move closer to it to eat his food. In between bites of his burger, he asked, "So Edgar's our guy, right?"

Sam purposely took a larger than normal bite of his grilled chicken sandwich, giving himself a few more seconds before he had to explain that he might have been wrong about Edgar.

"Sammy?" Dean prompted.

"Dunno, Dean."

"What do you mean, you don't know? Either he is or he isn't." Dean threw his half-eaten sandwich down on the table. "It's not that hard of a question."

Keeping his gaze averted, Sam swallowed down the rest of his chicken, and cleared his throat. "There was nothing in what Mary told me that would point to Edgar as the source of your paralysis."

"Thought you said he killed himself? You read it to me . . . made a big deal out of his committing suicide." Dean pushed himself away from the table, turned and wheeled away from Sam. "Damn it, why the hell did I even listen to you."

Brusquely raking his fingers through his hair in utter frustration, Sam glared at his brother's retreating form. Throwing the rest of his sandwich down to scatter across the surface of the table, he stood and followed Dean. "You know, at least I'm trying here," he growled. "Not like you, taking off to God only knows where everyday since the accident, leaving me here to try and figure things out."

Dean spun his chair around to glare at Sam. "What do you want me to do, Sammy? Can't drive. Can't freakin' hunt. Am pretty much useless. So forgive me if I don't feel like ridin' shotgun while you follow every stupid idea that pops into your freakin' head."

Sam gave a curt nod, pursing his lips in anger. "You know what, if that's the way you feel maybe I should just quit searching and let you stay the way you are. Then you could just sit here and wallow yourself away in self-pity and blame me for everything."

"Never said I blamed you."

"You didn't have to say it, it's in every look you give me. And I'm sorry for what happened . . . you have no idea how sorry, but I need you to at least try and meet me halfway here."

Dean was quiet for several moments as he apparently mulled over what Sam had said, his expression inscrutable, and then he nodded. "Okay, Sammy."


	8. Chapter 8

_thanks for reading and for the awesome reviews!!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eight_

On a whim Dean stopped by a floral shop right next door to the motel, to buy Beth flowers. He'd never considered himself an 'on a whim' type of guy nor had he ever actually bought a girl flowers before, but for some reason he thought Beth would really like them, and he wanted to make her happy.

But what sounded like an inspired idea when sitting outside the store, turned into a nightmare as he wheeled around the store searching for just the right bouquet. _Like I would even know what the right kind of flowers were to buy someone. Not like Dad ever taught us what flowers went best with what occasion. _

"Can I help you, sir?" came a voice from directly behind him, and within a second a short woman wearing wire-rim glasses stood beside him. "Looking for something for your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, umm . . . I don't know . . . guess she might be my girlfriend."

The saleswoman smiled knowingly. "Ahhh . . . so you must want a special bouquet for her. Something to make just the right impression."

"Roses . . . girls like roses, right?" At this point, Dean was so flustered he was mentally kicking himself for even stepping a foot inside the store, but couldn't leave now.

"All girls like roses," she quickly supplied. "What color, red, white, yellow or we have some really nice pink ones that just came in this morning."

"If you were a girl . . . I mean you are a girl, but if a guy was to bring you flowers, what ones would you want?" _God, I sound like a freakin' babbling idiot. This was so a bad idea._

"Definitely the pink ones."

"Okay," he said with a quick nod, "give me a dozen of them."

"Good choice, sir. Any woman would love to get them."

She hurried off to wrap the flowers for him which Dean couldn't have been more thankful for as he felt like a complete fool. The saleswoman returned a short time later, and he quickly paid for the flowers, and hastily left before she tried to talk him into buying anything else.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

By the time Dean made it to the park, dark billowy storm clouds were rolling in, and he worried that Beth might have gone home already. A strong breeze swept across the lake, the water peaking and foaming as it headed to shore. The park was almost completely deserted except for a few joggers, and one woman walking her little white poodle.

His steady gaze trailed further down the path, and there sitting in her usual spot, sketching the lake was Beth, apparently oblivious of the impending storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the first raindrops fell. Beth's head fell back to rest on her shoulders, and she opened her mouth and catch the drops on her tongue.

"Hey, Beth," Dean said as he rolled up alongside her.

She glanced down at her wristwatch, and then smiled at him "I was getting worried . . . didn't think you were coming because of the rain."

"Yeah, I stopped to get you these." He handed her the roses, and was rewarded for his efforts when he saw her face light up with the brightest smile. She leaned over and kissed him, lingering just long enough to have his heart beating faster, and then drew away.

"Funny, you don't remind me as much of the flower giving type."

"Think the sale's lady thought the same exact thing."

"And yet you still braved the big bad flower shop just for me, I am impressed." She chuckled as she tucked the wet strands of hair that clung to her face behind her ears. "You probably scared the poor woman."

"Yeah, that pretty much came after I insulted her by asking her if she was a girl what kind of flowers she would want."

Her smile faded as she wistfully bit at her lower lip. "You didn't have to buy me flowers, Dean."

"I know I didn't have to, I wanted to," he said as he reached over and caressed her cheek, reveling in the feel of her silky soft skin. "Wanted you to know how much you mean to me."

Dean thought to mention finding some place warm and dry, somewhere out of the rain that was now steadily pelting the ground and drenching them, but Beth didn't seem to mind it. Most of the women Dean had known in the past would have been running for cover fearing their hair and makeup would be ruined, and he liked the fact that Beth seemed just as at peace in a rainstorm as she did on a bright sunny day.

"Dean?" She paused for a moment, took hold of his hand, and waited until she had his undivided attention. "What happened to you? Why are you in a wheelchair?"

For a split second it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth, not wanting to lie to her, but in the end, his years of keeping what his family did a secret won out. "Not really sure what happened. My brother Sam and I have been trying to figure it all out, but haven't come up with anything yet."

"You have a brother?"

Dean couldn't believe he'd failed to mention his brother to her since Sam was usually the first and last thing on his mind. And the odd thing was that a part of him didn't want her to know about him yet, but now that he'd mentioned Sam, he couldn't ignore her question.

"Yeah, he's my younger brother," he said, a frown settling on his face.

"You two aren't close?"

"No, we're probably as close as two brothers can be. I pretty much raised him cause my father was away a lot of the time when we were younger."

"And you resent him for that?"

Dean shook his head. "No . . . I've just been really angry at him lately. Said a lot of things I didn't mean . . . ." his voice trailed off has he thought of how much he'd hurt his brother in the past few days. "I mean, he's tryin' real hard, and I know it's not his fault."

"You don't have to explain to me, I pushed everyone away after my accident, too." She brought his hand to her lips and lightly kissed it. "Sometimes it's easier to lash out at the people who are closest to us than to deal with the hurt and anger."

"I'd really like you two to meet. I think you would really like him."

"I'd love to."

"Beth," Dean paused trying to think of what he'd like to say to her. But as hard as he tried, nothing that would convey all he was feeling in his heart, would come to him. "Would you like to go out sometime . . . maybe to dinner?"

Beth lowered her head, and he felt a slight tremor rush through her hand, and as he glanced in her direction he noticed a look of pure panic on her face. "Can't we just have this for now, Dean. I mean I love this . . . love . . . ." She looked up, met his gaze, and moistened her lips. "Love you," she said in a breathless rush, and then looked away. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that . . . it's stupid to love someone you just met three days ago . . . I should go. . . really should go . . . I'm so sorry."

She released his hand, and made to leave, but Dean grabbed onto her wheelchair, lifted her off her seat, and sat her on his lap. The flowers he'd given her along with her sketch pad fell to the ground unnoticed by either.

"Don't leave, Beth. Not today . . . I don't want you to go. Just stay here with me."

"Dean, I really — "

He successfully stopped any further protest she might have had when he gently lifted her chin and kissed her. As their lips brushed together, and the kiss slowly deepened, Dean wrapped his arms around her, drawing her even closer to him. Her fingers trembled as she lightly caressed his cheek, and he instinctively knew she was afraid, and so reluctantly he ended the kiss.

Beth laid her head on his shoulder, and lovingly trailed her fingers down his chest, coming to rest just above his stomach, and he placed his hand over hers, content to just have her near him. She was silent for a long while, and he wondered what she was thinking, and worried that she would pull away from him before he was ready to let her go.

"You're going to break my heart, Dean," she said in a soft breathy whisper. "I should've left when I had the chance."

Lightly resting his cheek against the top of her head, he tightened his hold around her, not wanting her to leave. "You don't know that . . . I might just surprise you."

Snuggling closer to him, she sighed contentedly. Dean relaxed, feeling the tension ease from his body as they sat in silence and watched the lightning splay across the sky. After a while, the rain dwindled to a light sprinkle, and the sky began to clear, patches of light blue mingling with ominous gray, and Dean found himself wanting it to rain again so he could hold her close and shelter her from it.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to go," she said, without glancing up at him, "I want to stay here with you . . . like this, but I have to."

"You don't have to go. Stay with me . . . come home with me," he said in a deep husky voice, and unconsciously held his breath, waiting for her response.

"You're making this so hard . . . you have no idea how much I want to, but I can't just be a one night stand. I'm just not like that, Dean." Beth looked up at him, her face glistening with rain water, eyes a brilliant turbulent green haloed in thick dark lashes, and gave him a small smile. "I've never . . . I mean, I haven't. . . ." her voice trailed off as she lowered her head, her cheeks blushing profusely.

"Haven't — " The full meaning of what she was trying to say suddenly struck him speechless. He'd never dealt with a virgin before, not even when he was one himself, and didn't exactly know how to react. Part of him was absolutely thrilled at the thought of being her first, but the other bigger part was terrified that he couldn't be what she wanted or needed. His life meant having no personal attachments to get in the way when it was time to move on, and in his heart he knew she deserved better than that.

"And what if I'm just not capable of giving anything more than that?" he said, and instantly regretted it when he saw the look in her eyes, but couldn't take it back.

"Then don't come back here tomorrow," she moved away from him, and reached for her wheelchair, "I can't give my heart away to someone who can't love me in return."


	9. Chapter 9

_thanks so much for reading and reviewing it means the world to me! this was one of my favorite stories to write, so i really hope everyone is enjoying it! thanks again! bambers;)_

_Chapter Nine_

Sam had noticed a change in his brother's personality the moment Dean had entered their motel room, thoroughly drenched, two days ago, but didn't know what to attribute it to. He was sullen and withdrawn, and at first, Sam had thought it was due to the lack of progress they were making to find out more information on Edgar Stone, yet now he wasn't so sure. And when Sam tried to ask him what was wrong, Dean would just shake his head and say he didn't want to talk about it.

The two following days, Sam had expected his brotherto leave and go off to the park on his own like he had been doing, but instead, Dean just sat in front of the window and stared at the park across the street, with an unfathomable expression on his face. And that was where he was again today.

Grabbing a chair, Sam brought it over to where Dean was, and sat beside him. For several minutes he remained silent, trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he decided to just ask the question that was utmost on his mind. "Who is she?" 

"Huh?" Dean gave him a quick sidelong glance and then returned his attention to looking out the window.

"The girl you met at the park. The reason you didn't want to leave here."

"Never said I met a girl, Sam," Dean adamantly denied, but refused to look in Sam's direction.

Heaving a deep sigh, Sam regarded his brother more closely, and noticed how Dean's grip tightened around the edges of the armrests on his wheelchair when Sam suggested that he wanted to stay because of a girl. That one simple little gesture belied his brother's denial, and intrigued Sam.

"If you're not gonna tell me, then I guess I'll just go and find out for myself." He stood, and grabbed his jacket off the chair, knowing his brother wouldn't let him get too far before he stopped him, but couldn't resist adding, "Sure she won't be too hard to spot. Big boobs, lots of makeup, probably wearing a Metallica t-shirt, and not a helluva lot going on in the brains department."

Dean swung to glare at him. "Don't ever talk about her like that again," he growled. "She's not like that."

Sam was momentarily struck speechless by the look on his big brother's face. The only other time he'd seen the expression his brother wore on his face right now was when he spoke of Cassie. But there was something else mingled with it, and if Sam didn't know any better he'd say it was fear. 

"You love her," he stated simply, and waited for Dean respond.

"Sam, just leave it alone." Dean glanced back out the window, and then lowered his head in a defeated manner. "Really doesn't matter cause we'll be leavin' soon anyway."

"Like hell it doesn't." Sam stared at his brother in utter disbelief, and realized that Dean was trying his damnedest to keep all his warring emotions in check, but was fighting a losing battle. And then Sam saw the same look of fear in his brother's green eyes that he'd seen a few minutes ago, and knew it for what it was. "You_ really_ love her, and that scares the hell out of you. Doesn't it?"

"You don't understand, Sammy. I just can't. . . . "

"Can't what?" Sitting beside his brother, Sam leaned forward, and rested his arms on his thighs. "Is it because you're in a wheelchair? Because if she loves you too that shouldn't matter."

Dean shook his head, but didn't say a word.

"You didn't tell her about what we do, did you?" Sam asked, quirking a brow.

"No."

"And she feels the same way about you as you do for her?"

"Told me she loved me."

Sam was quickly losing his patience as Dean shot down every reason why he shouldn't allow himself to be happy for a change. "If she loves you and doesn't mind that you're in a wheelchair, then why the hell are you sitting here with me instead of being with her?"

Brusquely raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, Dean muttered, "Beth's a virgin, Sammy."

"Oh," Eyes widening in understanding, Sam scrubbed his hand across his face. "Well, that's different."

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction when I heard it."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"No, if anything, it made me like her even more. But I messed everything up. Told her I wasn't capable of giving her what she needed, and she told me not to come back."

"Well, I'm not gonna let you screw this up." Sam stood, put on his jacket, and headed for the door. Once there, he stopped and swung to look at his brother. "You coming or do I have to drag your sorry ass all the way there? Cause I will if I have to."

Dean was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, I'm coming."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam held on tightly to the handles behind his brother's wheelchair as the path leading to the lake sharply declined. His legs felt the strain from keeping the chair from moving too swiftly down the hill, and feared if he lost his grip his brother would end up face down in the lake with his wheelchair on top of him. 

At the edge of the water, a girl with shoulder length sandy-brown hair sat in a wheelchair, and Sam could not contain the look of surprise on his face. Why his brother failed to mention it, Sam couldn't fathom, but if it didn't bother Dean then it sure as hell didn't bother him. As they drew closer he noticed that she was sketching a picture of the lake, and was impressed at how relaxed and confident she appeared. 

People seemed to pass her by unnoticed, and Sam felt a slight twinge of anger that they wouldn't even give her a slight nod of acknowledgment. If Dean loved her then she had to be a truly extraordinary individual, and he couldn't understand why other people couldn't see that as well. 

As the blacktop path evened out, Sam removed his hands from the grips and let Dean wheel himself the rest of the way. He noticed how his brother slowed his pace the closer he got to Beth, and knew he was having second thoughts, but Sam wasn't about to let him turn back, so he picked up his pace, passed by Dean, and only stopped when he was standing beside her. 

Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, Beth turned her head and glanced up at him. She then looked beyond him, saw Dean, and frowned. 

"I'm Sam, Dean's brother." Sam smiled awkwardly at her, and she returned the gesture. 

"Nice to meet you, Sam. My name's Beth." 

"Yeah, I know. Dean told me all about you."

Dean rolled up behind Sam and drove his wheelchair into the back of Sam's legs, purposely pushing him out of the way. "Sorry about that, Sammy," he said with a grin. "Damn wheelchair has a mind of its own."

Sam swung to glare at his brother, saw the cocksure smile on his face that had been absent since he'd been injured, and couldn't find it in himself to argue. "That's okay, dude, I know you didn't do it on purpose," he said, and then cast his brother a quick glance that clearly conveyed he knew Dean had done exactly that, and Dean's smile deepened.

An awkward silence settled between the three of them, and when Sam turned to look at Beth, he noticed that although she'd set her drawing aside, she was looking anywhere but at Dean. Somehow he knew he needed to do something to break the ice. 

"I'm sorry I've kept Dean from coming to visit you the past few days, Beth. I've been doing some research, and needed his help." 

"Oh," she said, with a slight nod of her head, but still refused to look at Dean. "I see."

"Yeah, I'm not that great at doing research," he lied effortlessly, "and was about to give up until Dean came up with some new developments for me to look into."

"That's not true, Sammy," Dean countered, and Sam turned to stare incredulously at him. Dean was quiet for a moment as he shifted in his seat to look at Beth, and she raised her head to look at him as well. "Beth, Sam's trying to cover for me." He hesitated, swallowing hard, then continued onward before he lost his nerve, "I figured if I stayed away, I would keep from hurting you. I don't want to do that."

"I understand," she replied in a small barely audible voice, and clasping her hands together, she lowered her head.

"No, you don't understand. I wasn't just tryin' to protect you . . . I was tryin' to protect myself as well." he swallowed again, then bit at his lower lip. "I'm not good at . . . not good at. . . ." 

Scrubbing his hand across his stubbled jaw, he looked to Sam and a subtle understanding passed between them, and Sam knew his brother needed to dothis on his own. Sam hitched a thumb over his shoulder, and said, "Think I'm gonna take a walk around the lake, I'll be back in a little while."

Dean watched his brother's retreating form, and then turned back to Beth. "Don't know what to do, Beth. I don't want to stay away from you . . . but if you tell me to, I will."

"Dean — " she began, but he quickly cut her off before he lost the nerve to say what he wanted to say.

"Please, let me finish," he waited a moment, saw her nod, and then continued, "I'm kinda lost here . . . and I don't know what to do." He drew in a staggering breath trying and calm his erratically beating heart, and feared what she would do when he said what he had to say next. "I don't know how to be in a relationship with someone. Usually leave before things ever get that complicated . . . but I don't want to leave you. . . and that scares the hell outta me." He took another deep breath, and cleared his throat. "I – I love you, Beth, and I'm sorry if I hurt you. And I need you to give me another chance."

Beth was silent for a long time, and when she finally glanced up at Dean, he saw there were tears brimming in her beautiful sea-green eyes. "I'm so glad you came back, Dean."


	10. Chapter 10

_Kay, so fair warning, there are scenes in this chapter of a sexual nature and are not meant for younger readers. thanks for reading!! hope everyone is still enjoying the story...please let me know what you think...reviews are like gold to me!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Ten_

Sam spent the next few days repeatedly going over everything he'd learned about Edgar, and researching for new leads, but was quickly becoming discouraged. If there was a link between Dean's paralysis and Edgar's death, Sam couldn't find it. And although he didn't want to admit the doctors might be right that surgery was his brother's only recourse, Sam reluctantly had to concede they were probably were.

Without any new information to go on, Sam decided to take a drive out to the cemetery to take a look around. He'd thought to ask Dean to go along, but knew his brother would rather spend time with Beth than to go along on what would more than likely turn out to be another fruitless search.

As he drew nearer to the broken headstone belonging to Edgar, a strange sorrowful feeling worked its way into his heart, and took hold of him. His breath caught in his throat as the feeling intensified, and he braced himself against an old willow tree to keep himself from falling to his knees.

Slowly, the feeling began to subside, leaving Sam shaky and confused. He'd never felt such intense anguish without cause before, and was certain it meant something, but he wasn't sure exactly what. If Edgar was trying to tell him something, it was lost on him.

He walked to the grave, knelt beside it, and noticed a small rust colored stain on the corner of the base of the stone where his brother's head must have struck it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam closed his eyes and tried to recall everything that had happened that night.

_I was trying to dig faster as Markus' spirit was attacking Dean, and Dean was yelling at me to hurry up. I salted and burned him, and looked up and saw Dean just as he landed here. He passed out . . . he passed out, and I felt the same way as I felt a moment ago. _

"There has to be a reason for it. It can't just be a coincidence." Sam looked one last time at the gravestone, saw nothing particularly interesting about it, and stood to leave.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shadow moving rapidly in and amongst a small copse of trees off to the right, and hastily followed, remembering the accounts of a shadow man watching over one particular grave in the cemetery. Darting through the trees, his jacket snagging on low thorny branches, Sam tried to keep his sights trained on the figure, but lost it several times, before it finally disappeared at the edge of the tree line.

He glanced around at all the graves line up in neat rows, and heaved an aggravated sigh. _If it was watching me, then maybe it was Edgar? But why would he be standing guard over a grave? _"Maybe people just saw him standing beside his own grave? That would make sense." Sam tried to reason, but had a nagging doubt, feeling as if Edgar's spirit was trying to lead him somewhere.

Again, he went over what he knew about the former police officer. _His children are both alive. His wife left him soon after we was fired from the police force, but she's still alive as well. Both of his parents died before he was married, but I can't see why he would guard over their graves. _Sam's thoughts turned to the accident Edgar had been in. _No one died in the accident, so that leaves that out . . . but what if they died shortly after, and he blamed himself for it?_

Truthfully, Sam hadn't looked too carefully into the facts of the accident after hearing no one had been too seriously injured, and was now kicking himself for not doing so. _But even if someone died because of him, why would he hurt Dean? _

"This makes no sense, maybe I'm looking for answers that just aren't there." Sam trudged back to the Impala, thoroughly disheartened, and headed back to the motel.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean sighed contentedly as he ran his fingers through Beth's silky hair. She'd fallen asleep on his lap, her head resting against his chest, and he tried to remain as still as possible so as not to wake her. He loved that he could watch her like this, body pressed closely to his, peacefully unaware of her surroundings. And whatever sexual desire he felt toward her at the moment, he forcefully pushed it aside, knowing that when she was ready it would be perfect.

Beth stirred slightly as a soft cool breeze drifted by, and Dean hastily wrapped her blanket more firmly around her as he held her closer to him. She smiled in her sleep, and he was struck once again at just how beautiful she was, and how she'd chosen to love him when she could've had anyone she'd wanted.

He'd never thought he could feel about anyone the way he felt about Beth, his life just didn't allow for it, and as he sat there, a worried frown creased his brow. Everything good that had ever happened in his life was quickly replaced by tragedy, and even now, he waited for it to find him again, and put an end to his happiness.

"Don't leave me, Beth," he softly whispered into her ear, "don't ever leave me."

"Dean?" She looked up at him, through partially opened eyes, and smiled dreamily.

She opened her mouth to say something more and he lowered his head and eagerly sought out her lips. The kiss deepened, his tongue finding hers as he crushed her body to his. Beth softly moaned as she wove her fingers through his hair and drew him in even closer, their bodies melting into one.

Dean drew back, breathless, trying his damnedest to control the desire that welled inside him like a firestorm, with little success. "Oh, God, Beth," he uttered in a deep throaty whisper, "I want you so much . . . and I don't know what to do . . . just tell me what to do."

"I don't want you to stop, Dean," she replied breathlessly. "There's a place . . . it's the perfect place . . . I've always dream of. . . ." her voice trailed off as she looked beyond him toward the canopy of trees. "There's a waterfall . . . and I just always thought . . . ."

"Where is it?" he said without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to make her first time absolutely perfect.

She gestured to where she'd just been looking. "It's just beyond those trees, no one usually ever goes back there, but I don't think I can make it on my own."

Dean nodded in understanding. "You don't have to," he said, and headed toward where she'd just pointed to, with her still on his lap.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Beth trailed her tongue down his neck, softly kissing him to distraction. Slowly, she traced the edge of his ear with her tongue, and then playfully nibbled at it.

"Beth, if you don't stop, we're not gonna make it there," he hoarsely whispered, trying to remain in control, "cause you're driving me crazy here."

"I'm sorry, Dean," she said, moving slightly away from him.

"No, don't be sorry . . . don't ever be sorry for that." He stopped his wheelchair for a moment, drew her back against him again, and then proceeded onward, going as fast as he could possibly manage.

Nestling closer to him, her hand trailed down his chest, then lower, and he moaned at the exquisite torture of her touch. Dean wove his way through the path of trees, noticing how secluded the area was and was thankful for that as he wasn't sure how much further he could go with Beth tempting him as she was.

Up ahead, he heard the sound of water cascading over the rocks, and felt the spray of mist on his face. As he drew nearer to the falls, he noticed a massive flat boulder beside the water, and as he looked at Beth and saw her smile he knew it was the perfect place.

Removing the blanket from around Beth, he set it on the boulder, and then carefully lifted her onto it. As he made his way onto it, Beth spread out the blanket, and when she was finished she turned to look at him.

Gently caressing her face, Dean's hand trailed backward toward the nape of her neck, and he leaned forward and softly brushed his lips against hers. "I love you, Beth." He noticed the look of fear in her eyes, and hesitated, wanting to make sure this was absolutely what she wanted. "You're sure?"

She met and held his gaze, smiled and nodded. "I want you to make love to me, Dean."

Dean swallowed back his own sudden fear at the thought of disappointing her in some way as he slowly trailed his hand downward to unbutton her blouse, reveling in the feel of the soft creamy skin below.

Moving closer to him, Beth took hold of the bottom of his t-shirt and lifted it over his head. She leaned in, lowered her head and gently kissed all the scars she noticed on his deeply tanned chest, and as he laid back against the boulder, she continued downward to his stomach.

Ardent heat surged through his body, and he trembled as her tongue trailed back upward to his chest. Playfully, she nipped at his hardened nipple, then drew it into her mouth, and he groaned in pleasure.

Dean, unable to bear the tantalizing torture any longer, wrapped his arms around her and rolled over, pressing his body against hers as he sought out her mouth, his tongue searching and tasting every inch of the warmth her found there. His hand slid downward to undo the front clasp of her lacy bra, and his fingers lightly caressed her silky smooth breast.

Leaning back, he propped himself up on his elbow to look at down at Beth, wanting to memorize every single nuance of her body. Her velvety skin glistened from the mist rolling off the waterfalls, and her hair spread out in a wild disarray was slightly dampened by it. Eyes, wide and turbulent green in the throes of passion met his hungered gaze with an intensity that nearly staggered him.

"You're so beautiful, Beth . . . so damn beautiful."

His mouth found hers again, his kisses turning urgent as her nimble fingers found and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Momentary panic filled him as he suddenly realized how hard it was going to be to get his pants off without the use of his legs, and he silently cursed under his breath.

"Dean?" Beth said, a tremor of fear in her voice, and he knew she'd thought she'd done something wrong.

"Just tryin' to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to get my jeans off in a somewhat sexy manner." He chuckled to break the sudden tension he'd inadvertently created. "There should really be some sort of manual for this kinda situation."

"It's not a big deal, Dean." She smiled, and then together they both figured out the best way to get rid their unwanted clothing, and removed them.

Once freed from their impeding garments, Dean pressed his body to hers, his mouth devouring hers hungrily. His lips trailed down to her breast, and he drew it into his mouth. She gasped, her breath coming in short rapid succession as Dean felt a shiver of pleasure coursing through her body.

Dean's hand slowly slid downward over her flat, firm stomach, and then farther still to where he felt the silky warmth between her thighs. Her nails dug into his back, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips as his deft fingers continued their slow exploration of her body. He heard her sharp intake of breath as his mouth sought out the firm nub of her other breast.

"Please, Dean," she softly moaned, and it was his undoing.

Lifting himself, he pressed down on top of Beth as he entered her exquisite warmth. Using the muscles in his arms and stomach instead of his legs, he thrust in deeper, and she cried out in pain. He instantly stilled, and noticed her eyes were tightly closed, tears slipping down the sides of her face.

"I'm so sorry, Beth. I wasn't thinking . . . I swear, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she whispered, wrapping her hand around the back of his head as she arched upward to kiss him.

Slowly, he began to move inside of her once again, his thrusts deepening as the tension in his body increased. Sweat glistened on his skin as drove himself deeper and deeper inside her. Her nails raked into his back as she lifted her body to meet his. Over and over again, her body arched to meet his until she gasped, a cry of pleasure escaping from her lips. His breath caught in his throat as he thrust once again and found release, his body trembling as he collapsed and drew her into his arms.

For the longest time they laid like that, the gentle mist washing over them, the turbulent rush of water pounding on the rocks below the waterfalls echoing in the quiet, and the sound of their breathing as it returned to normal.

Beth rolled in his arms to face him, her hair falling loosely over her eyes, and Dean gently brushed it aside. Her look of wide-eyed innocence nearly stole his breath away. She trembled slightly as a cool breeze swept over them, and he drew her to him, kissing her lightly at first, and then it deepened as his passion ignited once more.

With chest heaving, her breathing came in short panted breaths as she ended the kiss, and whispered, "I love you, Dean . . . I'll always love you, even if this was only a one time thing."

His heart caught in his throat then spiraled into his stomach as he recalled telling her he wasn't capable of giving her more. She'd taken him at his word, and was giving him an easy out, but he found he didn't want her to. Hugging her fiercely and protectively to him, he swallowed hard. "I want you with me always, Beth. Always. I never want to let you go."


	11. Chapter 11

_So, I'm trying to get the rest of this posted in as short of time as possible...thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eleven_

Sam was sitting at the table in their motel room with his laptop open, doing research when Dean entered the room. He looked up at Dean briefly, and smirked. "You're shirt's on inside out and you're wearing it backwards, dude." He chuckled softly as he returned his attention to the computer screen. Without looking back up at Dean, he added, "So I guess I don't really have to ask how your day was."

Not bothering to reply, Dean wheeled to the table, and glanced at the information Sam had written down on a notepad. "Found anything yet?"

"Not much, although I did go back to the cemetery today."

Distractedly, Dean flipped through the pages of the notepad, and noticed his brother had more questions than actual answers. "Find anything there?"

"Thought I saw something. Felt something." Sam shrugged, raking his fingers through his shaggy hair. "I dunno, it could've been nothing."

"Saw something as in Edgar's spirit?"

"Not sure. It was the middle of the day. Could've just been a trick of the light." Letting out a deep sigh, Sam continued, "Besides, whatever it was, it was leading me away from Edgar's grave not toward it."

Looking over Sam's notes again, Dean pointed to three names he didn't recognize. "Who are these people?"

"Those are three of the people from the accident Edgar caused, I've been trying to track them all down to see if they may have died shortly afterward. Figured if they had, Edgar might've felt guilty enough about it to take his own life."

"And?" Dean thought it was a long shot at best, and knew his brother must have run out of credible leads to look into something so far fetched, but didn't have the heart to say so.

"These three are still alive, but I'm still trying to track down the others."

"Was anyone seriously injured?"

"Not these three. Minor injuries, cuts and bruises. Think the most serious injury was a broken collar bone."

"Sammy, I think you might be lookin' for something that just isn't there," Dean reluctantly admitted.

"Don't think I am, Dean," Sam shook his head, and gestured toward the computer screen. "There's just something wrong about the whole thing. Conflicting police reports, a huge coverup, Edgar getting fired and then committing suicide. Why? If no one was seriously hurt why would they fire him, and why would they try to cover it up?"

"Maybe Edgar had some skeletons in his closet, and after the accident they came to the forefront."

Pursing his lips, Sam shook his head again. "He was a good cop, Dean. Had several commendations in his files, and received three medals for heroism throughout his career on the force. He was even up for a promotion."

"And so it all comes back to the accident."

Sam flipped through his notes, and gestured to what he'd written down about his visit to Edgar's daughter Mary. "She said that she'd caught him crying several times when he was looking at some newspaper clipping." He turned to look at Dean, a determined expression on his face, and declared, "That article was the reason he killed himself. And it's the reason he's not at rest, and it's also the reason why you can't walk, I'd stake my life on it."

"Well, what was in the article?" Dean asked, and saw his brother frown.

"Dunno, but I'm gonna find out."

Dean nodded, understanding his brother's need to try and fix what was wrong with him, but knew he was grasping at straws. "How do you plan on findin' out what was in a newspaper clipping from eight years ago. It's not like Edgar's goin' tell you."

"No, but maybe his other daughter can. And if I have to, I'll drive all the way to freakin' Boston to find her."

"An' if she doesn't know? Then what?"

"Dunno, Dean," Sam growled, throwing up his hands in anger and frustration, eyes narrowing as he glared at Dean. "Maybe I'll go to the freakin' cemetery with a damn spirit board, conjure up his sorry ass and ask him myself. It's not like you are — " The sound of Sam's phone ringing stopped him from saying anything else, and he hastily answered it.

"Yeah, this is Sam Chichester." Sam paused to listen to what the other person was saying, and then grabbed for his notepad. "And you're sure that's what it said, Mary? Absolutely sure?" he said as he glanced in Dean's direction, a deep frown creasing his brow.

"What's she saying?" Dean whispered, but Sam just gave him an odd look, and shook his head.

"How long ago was that? Did it say in the article?" Sam went on with his conversation, and the bits and pieces Dean was gathering from Sam's responses were slowly starting to grate on his nerves.

"And it happened four months after the accident? Mmhmm . . . I see."

"Damn it, Sammy, what happened four months after the accident?" Dean growled in aggravation, seeing the stricken expression on his little brother's face.

"And did it say how she died?" Sam was silent for a moment as he threw his pad of paper aside, not bothering to write anything Mary had said down. "Thanks for calling me back, Mary." Sam hung up the phone, and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, and stood to leave. "I gotta go out for a while."

"Wait," Dean stared up at him incredulously, "aren't you even gonna freakin' tell me what she said first?"

"Some girl committed suicide four months after the accident. Mary's sister Anna had saved the article," he said as he headed toward the door. "I really have to go, Dean. Have to check something out."

Sam hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, looked back at Dean, and Dean noticed he had an almost sad reluctance to actually leave. Then without a word, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Flicking on his flashlight, Sam walked amongst the gravestones, flashing his light on each and everyone searching for one in particular. The wind rustled through the trees, bending them low, and several times, Sam had to push them out of the way as he continued to hunt for the grave. Overhead, bats flew in and out of the trees, and he was forced to duck as a few of them skirted very close to his head.

He aimed his light ahead of him, and noticed a dark shadow hovering around one grave, the light coming from a lamppost, slightly illuminating the figure. Stealthy, he crept toward it, and was somewhat surprised that it didn't try to attack him. As he edged closer to the gravestone, the same feeling of sadness that he'd felt earlier in the day overwhelmed him once again.

The shadowy figure backed away to hover amongst the trees as Sam directed his light onto the stone, and then dropped to his knees beside it. Scrubbing his hand across his face, he lowered his head to read what was written on the stone, and then narrowed his eyes to peer into the darkened copse of trees.

"You sonuvabitch," he shouted, his voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "This is why you hurt my brother?"

In a blink of an eye, the shadowy spirit of Edgar loomed over Sam, and Sam felt crushed beneath the weight of Edgar's guilt and despair. His head shot backwards as the force of all Edgar's memories rushed through him, and he saw her. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt her fear and panic as she was trapped inside her car. He could smell the acrid scent of smoke as it rolled upward from the engine, and saw the flames. He heard someone shouting orders, and the flames disappeared, and someone was cutting away at the car door. Touching his forehead, he felt the deep gash that sliced through her forehead, blinking as blood dripped down into her eyes. Sam felt himself being lifted as they placed her in an ambulance, and it drove away.

A flash of white-hot pain erupted behind his eyes, and he felt as if he was drowning. His lungs burned as he tried to gulp in air, but his mouth filled with dirty water causing him to gasp and sputter. Something was weighing him down, and vainly he struggled to bridge the surface until his will gave out, and he dropped to the ground unconscious.


	12. Chapter 12

_so, only four more chapters after this one, so i should be done posting soon!! just a warning, this chapter contains sexual situations not meant for younger readers!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Twelve_

When Sam finally awoke, the sun was already up, and as he glanced at his watch he realized he'd been out cold for at least twelve hours. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he jabbed the button and called Dean. On the third ring, Dean finally answered.

"Sam?" he asked, and Sam could hear the edge of concern in his tone.

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he said rubbing his eyes, and wincing at the bright sunlight. "Just have a killer headache."

"Where the hell have you been? I've been tryin' to get a hold of you for hours."

"Think I figured this whole thing out, Dean. Don't think he was tryin' to hurt you."

"What are you talkin' about, dude?"

'Edgar . . . I don't think he was trying to hurt you." Sam hesitated, looking at the gravestone once again. "Think in his own way, he was trying to help."

"Dude, you're not making any sense. If he's a freakin' spirit we salt and burn him, end of story."

"Dean, I don't think it's gonna be that easy," Sam said quietly as he traced the name on the grave with his finger. "Look, I really need to talk to you, so we can figure out what to do about Edgar . . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought of all he'd learned about the former police officer, and wondered how he was ever going to fix the mess the spirit had created in their lives. "I have to check out a few more things, and then I'll be swing by the motel and pick you up."

"Alright, Sammy."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean helped Beth up onto the boulder near the waterfall, and handed her several bags with the lunch he'd brought for them. As she began to take all the food out of the bag, she giggled.

"Did I look like I was starving, Dean?"

He lowered his head, a sheepish grin on his face. "Didn't know what you liked, so I ordered one of everything off the menu." From his pocket he yanked out two small candles, lit them and set them down on the blanket as Beth poured their drinks into plastic cups. "It's not exactly the wine and candlelight dinner you deserve, but it was the best I could do on such short notice." He hesitated for a moment, worrying that his pathetic attempt at romancing Beth would disappoint her. "See, Sammy would've done this up right. He's kind of a detail freak, and would've probably had violinists playing some God awful music in the background along with crystal glasses and some wine I've never even heard of before."

"It's perfect, Dean. I love it." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"I was hoping you would." Wrapping his arm around her waist, he drew her over onto his lap, and lovingly trailed kisses down her neck. "Cause I don't even know what half the food I ordered is."

She picked up a container with something greenish-yellow inside of it and grimaced. "I don't know what it is either."

"Think that's some sort of broccoli souffle . . . I'll save that for Sam."

"Good idea," she agreed, covering it, and placing it back in the bag. "Can he have that, too" she crinkled her nose, and pointed at the container with poached salmon in it.

"Sure, Sam loves that kind of crap."

Opening a greasy looking bag, Dean pulled out a plate wrapped in tinfoil and opened it. The scent of his burger wafted through the air, and she eyed it longingly.

"Can I just have some of your burger and fries?"

Dean laughed as he broke the sandwich apart and gave her half. "Gotta love ya, you're a woman after my own heart."

Beth rested against Dean's chest, and quietly ate her meal. When she was finished with her burger and fries, she looked around at all the uneaten food, and her delicate brows pulled together. "What are we gonna do with all this food? You probably spent a lot of money on it and we can't let it go to waste."

"Don't worry about it, I put it on a credit card," Dean said with a slight smirk.

"What do you do for a living?" she asked out of the blue, and blushed sweetly at her own forthright manner. "Sorry, just want to know more about you."

"That's okay." Inwardly he cringed, at the thought of telling her what his job was, but knew sooner or later the topic would come up. He didn't want to lie to her, and wondered how she would react if he told her the truth. Cassie definitely hadn't taken the news well, but he hoped Beth would be different. "My brother and I are sort of professional hunters."

"I don't understand?" She quirked a brow, a somewhat confused expression on her face. "You can actually make a living hunting?"

"Actually, not really, but it's not about the money."

"So you hunt for the fun of it?"

"Really not all that much fun most of the time." Dean could tell his vague responses were starting to frustrate her by the look she was giving him, and knew he either needed to change the subject or come right out with the truth. "What we do, we do to save lives," he said, and waited to see what her reaction would be to gage what he should say next.

"Save lives?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "What do you hunt lions in Africa or something like that?"

"Nope, not lions and definitely not in Africa . . . I don't fly . . . ever." _Well, not unless a demon has taken control of a plane and is about to make it take a nose dive, but better not tell her that right now._

"You're afraid to fly?"

"Not afraid to fly, it's just that whole falling outta the sky, crashing, fiery death thing I'm not toofond of."

She nodded in understanding. "I never liked flying either. Went on a plane when I was little and there was a lot of turbulence, and I thought we were gonna die. Made such a scene on the plane, and refused to get back on for the return flight, so my parents had to rent a car to get home. Haven't gone on one since."

"See, and Sam thinks I'm crazy . . . he's afraid of clowns." He grinned, liking the idea that she hated flying as well.

"Clowns?" she chuckled. "Seriously?"

"Yep, Bozo the Clown absolutely terrifies him. Something about the big red nose I think."

"You're teasing me. Your brother doesn't look like he would be afraid of much of anything."

"Nope, it's the truth."

Beth was silent for a moment and it appeared as if she were trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not. "So, you hate to fly, your brother's afraid of clowns and you both hunt for a living. Does that about sum it up?"

"Pretty much."

"You still didn't tell me what it is you do hunt if lions and any animal you'd have to take plane to get to is out of the question."

Dean knew instinctively she wasn't going to let it go, so he looked her dead in the eyes, and said, "Ghosts . . . ghosts and demons. If it's supernatural, we hunt it down and kill it."

Instead of looking at him as if she'd thought he was certifiable, Beth appeared intrigued, eyes wide, brows raised slightly to hide beneath her wispy bangs. "People actually pay you to do that?"

"Not really."

She glanced down at all the food that he'd bought, and then looked back at him. "Then I shouldn't really ask how you paid for all this," she gestured to all the styrofoam containers, "cause for some reason I don't really think I want to know."

"Probably not."

"And these ghosts and creatures . . . they're dangerous? They hurt people — kill people."

She shivered, and Dean wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm.

"Yeah, they do . . . a demon killed my mother when I was four. And then it came back and killed my father a few months ago."

"Oh, God, Dean. I'm so sorry. You must've been devastated losing both your parents to these things." She shifted to look at him, tears sparkling in her eyes, and pressed her lips against his, kissing him softly. "You don't have to tell me about this. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, that's okay," Dean said, shaking his head, and smiled, thrilled that she didn't even question that what he'd told her was real. "I don't want to keep any secrets from you."

"Dean? How do you kill something that's already dead?"

"Generally, we salt and burn their bones, but sometimes the sons of bitches latch themselves onto some sort of object and we have to destroy that as well."

Gently trailing her fingers down the length of his chest, she said, "And all the scars on your chest and back came from hunting these things?"

"Yeah." He captured her hand in his and lightly pressed his lips to it.

"And your accident . . . the one that left you paralyzed — they did this to you?" There was a note of sadness and fierce protectiveness in her tone as she said this, and Dean couldn't help but grin.

"Uh-huh." Dean's body involuntarily tensed, muscles contracting and bunching, his expression turning menacing at the thought of Edgar, and felt her tremble in his arms. Instantly he relaxed, not wanting to frighten her with the darker deadly side of his personality he hoped she would never see.

"You must really hate them, Dean." A tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it aside as she looked away from him and toward the rolling mists of the waterfall. "They've taken everything from you."

"Hate them with every fiber of my being. And I would — " the sound of Dean's cell phone ringing, cut him short from completing his sentence. Yanking it out of his pocket, he quickly checked to see who was calling, saw it was Sam, and answered.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Where the hell are you?" came Sam's aggravated sounding reply.

"I'm with Beth." He smiled at her as he said this, lightly caressing her cheek then his fingers traced a path downward to unbutton the top few buttons of her blouse.

"Told you I was gonna swing by and pick you up."

"Can't it wait, dude?" he asked as Beth began to teasingly nibble at his neck. Her hand lightly trailed down his chest, then lower still to rest between his thighs, and he groaned. "Kinda in the middle of something here, Sammy."

"It's important, Dean." Sam's voice was more insistent, but he didn't elaborate.

Undoing the button and zipper on his jeans, Beth's hand slipped between his boxers, and his breath caught in his throat, and then staggered out in quick succession.

"It's gonna have to wait," he hastily responded as she trailed her tongue along the edge of his ear, and he shut his eyes, reveling in the sensations she was evoking within him.

"Look, Dean, there's something I have to tell you," Sam's tone turned to pleading, "it's about your paralysis."

"Gotta let you go, Sam," Dean urgently replied as he threw down the phone and ripped off his t-shirt.

Leaning back, his breath escaped him in a heated rush as her delicate fingers continued their slow sensual exploration of his body. Her tongue trailed a path down his neck sending shivers coursing through him as she continued lower to capture his hardened nipple in her mouth, and he groaned in pleasure. Lower still she traveled, pressing kisses to his flat firm stomach, her tongue edging long his navel.

"Oh, God, Beth," Dean swallowed hard, grabbing a hold of her and pulling her back up to him. "You're drivin' me crazy."

His mouth sought out hers, delving ravenously as their tongues intertwined. Dean's hand slid downward to unbutton the rest of her shirt, and unclasp her bra, all-the-while never breaking contact with her lips. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled until he was on top, and then pressed his body firmly to hers.

Downward his lips travel, and he captured her the firm nub of her breast in his mouth, his tongue sensually rolling around it, and she gasped breathlessly. Lightly, he traced the tips of his fingers over her stomach then lower, and undid her jeans. His hand slid between the silky feel of her panties to the warmth that lay beneath, and she shuddered, writhing in exquisite torment.

Dean glanced up at her and was momentarily awestruck at how incredibly beautiful she was in the throes of lovemaking, green eyes wild and passionate, body glistening, lips slightly parted and trembling as she moistened them. With chest heaving, she looked down at him as he lowered his head and sought out her breast once more.

"Oh, God, Dean, please . . . I need you inside me," she said in a breathless whisper, and whatever restraint Dean had left within him, dissolved.

With greater ease, they removed the rest of their clothing, and Dean gently pressed his body to Beth's as his mouth eagerly found hers. Their tongues intertwined as he entered her, and thrust in deep, moaning softly against her lips. She arched to meet his thrust, her nails clawing into his back as he drove deeper and deeper inside of her. Sweat and mist glistened on her skin and his as their fevered tension increased.

Beth cried out, gripping onto his muscular arms as her body trembled with release. Dean continued to move inside her, his tension escalating to a fevered pitch, and as she arched to meet him again, he shuddered, a groan of pleasure escaping his parted lips.

Dean rolled to the side, and relaxed against her, wrapping his arms firmly around her, not ready to yet to let her go, and she seemed content to let him do so. Lovingly, he lightly traced a path down her arm and then let his hand rest on her stomach.

"I love you, Beth," he whispered in her ear, kissing her softly. "You've touched my heart and soul, and I'll never love anyone like I love you."


	13. Chapter 13

_thanks to all who are still reading this story...and thanks for the reviews, will be trying to post the last few chapters within the next few days...bambers;)_

_Chapter Thirteen_

When Dean returned to the motel, Sam was restlessly pacing back and forth in the small expanse, and Dean knew whatever he'd found out about Edgar couldn't be good news. And if it wasn't, Dean didn't think he wanted to hear it, he was too happy at the moment and for once wanted to remain that way.

"What's wrong, Sammy?"

"Told you it was important, Dean," Sam nearly growled as he swung to glare at Dean. "But you just wouldn't listen."

"It's not like Edgar's going anywhere, dude. He's stuck around for like eight years, think he can wait a little longer."

"Fine, if that's the way you feel." Sam grabbed his jacket off the bed, and stalked to Dean. "Come on, there's something I have to show you."

"Where are we going?" Dean asked as he wheeled his chair around to follow.

"To the cemetery."

"Why?" Dean's stomach coiled in knots at his brother's deliberately evasive answers, and feared that whatever caused his paralysis was permanent.

"I'll tell you when we get there," Sam said as he headed out the door and toward the Impala, and Dean was left with no alternative but to follow.

Once in the car, Sam silently brooded all the way to the cemetery, and Dean wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't listened to him or because of what Sam had learned about Edgar. But either way, he didn't want to find out, and so was happy for the silence. His thoughts turned to Beth as the scenery passed him by unnoticed. A part of him wanted to share his feelings for her with Sam, want him to understand that he didn't plan on leaving her behind, but didn't know how to broach the subject.

He knew his brother had felt the same way for Jess as he felt for Beth, and if things had been different, Sam would've married her. Fear gripped hold of his heart as he remembered what had happened to his brother's girlfriend, how the Yellow-Eyed Demon had killed her, and it terrified him to think of anything like that ever happening to Beth because of him. Fiercely he determined that he would do whatever it took to protect and shelter her from all the horrors in his life, but wasn't quite sure how he would accomplish that.

Sam pulled into the cemetery, and drove along the winding road past Markus' and Edgar's graves. He turned onto another road, and passed rows and rows of gravestones before finally veering to the side of the road to park the car. Turning off the engine, he yanked the keys out of the ignition, put them in his pocket, and then shifted in his seat to look at Dean.

After a long pause, Sam lowered his head, and began to speak. "A little under nine years ago Edgar was in a car accident. His blood alcohol level was well over the legal limit when he slammed head-on into a southbound traveling vehicle. The car that was behind hers smashed into the back of her vehicle, and she was trapped inside the wreckage."

Sam drew in a deep breath, slowly released it and continued, "Her car caught fire, but they managed to put it out and extract her from the vehicle. Although most escaped the accident with minor injuries, she was paralyzed from the waist down." He took another deep breath, and glanced up at Dean. His brows pulled together as he worried at his lower lip. "The accident took everything from her. Her life . . . the career she planned for herself . . . any thoughts she had for love and marriage in her future."

"Sammy, why are you telling me all this?" Dean asked, the beginnings of real fear creeping into his heart.

"Four months after the accident, she committed suicide," he went on to say, and Dean could tell by the tremor in his voice that his brother was trying to get it all out before he lost his nerve. "She'd never learned how to swim, was always afraid of the water . . . and she was found dead in a nearby lake."

"I don't want to hear the rest of this, Sam," Dean uttered, tears welling in his eyes as he turned to look out the window at the grave markers. "I want to go back to the motel . . . back to Beth."

"Beth Carlson died a little over eight years ago. She drowned in the lake at the park."

"No, you're lying." Dean swung back to face him, eyes narrowing and blurring with tears. "That's not true," he shook his head adamantly, "She's not dead! I would've known it if she was." His throat constricted painfully as he waited for his brother to say something, but Sam remained quiet, tears brimming in his own eyes. "It can't be true . . . I mean, I touched her, held her . . . we. . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought of making love to her. "You must've gotten something wrong. Beth's not dead."

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out an old article yellowed with age, and handed it to him. Dean glanced down at the obituary with a picture of Beth on it, and crumpled it in his hand.

"Found it in the library. I'm so sorry, Dean."

"I need to see her grave — need to see it for myself," he said in a barely audible voice.

"I know . . . and for what it's worth, I think she really does love you."

"Just show me the grave, Sam."

"Okay." Sam got out of the Impala, pulled Dean's wheelchair out of the backseat, and went around to help Dean out of the car. Dean slid out of the car and onto his seat, and then Sam pushed his wheelchair through the grass toward Beth's grave. Stopping in front of a tall gray marble headstone with two cherubs resting on top, Sam came around to stand beside Dean.

"Edgar was a good man, he made a mistake and never forgave himself for it."

"Why the hell are you tellin' me this?" Dean asked at he stared broken-heartedly at Beth's name on the cold gray stone. "He killed her as good as if she died in the accident."

"When he found out what happened to her, it tore him up inside. He'd spent his whole life protecting people and couldn't live with the fact that someone took their own life because of him."

"He deserved to die — he deserved a helluva lot worse." Dean angrily swiped away his tears, wanting to hit something, to slam his fists into something until the pain in his heart went away, but all he could do was just sit there and look at the grave of the woman he loved.

"He killed himself, but his spirit couldn't move on because it latched itself onto Beth's. She doesn't know she died, Dean, and neither of them can move on until she does."

"And what the hell does that have to do with me?" he asked bitterly.

"Think he saw something in you. Maybe thought you could help her where he couldn't, so he latched himself on to you as well. I think he somehow paralyzed you so you could look beyond her paralysis and see how beautiful she is, and then help her move on."

"How am I supposed to do that . . . how the hell does he expect me to just let her go. I can't do it . . . I won't. He's just gonna have to find someone else."

Dean began to wheel backward, not wanting to look at her grave any longer, when a sudden sharp pain ripped through his back and shot downward into his legs, and he doubled over. Sam was at his side in an instant, his hand on Dean's back.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Dean groaned. "My legs . . . oh, God, Sammy, it feels like daggers stabbing into them."

"You can feel your legs?" Sam repeated in shocked surprise.

"Just freakin' said that." Dean groaned again, rubbing his thighs vigorously trying to quell the ache.

"You don't get it. You can feel your legs. He's letting you go."

"Huh?" Dean cocked a brow and glared up at him. "Why would he do that?"

"Edgar must've realized you couldn't help him or Beth, and he's releasing you."

The pain eased to slightly uncomfortable twinges in Dean's legs, and he slowly lifted the right one and then the left, and was more than a little shocked to see that they actually moved on command. Sam helped him to his feet, and Dean took his first few steps, grateful that he could, but deeply heart-broken for what it had cost him.

"Sam, let's go back to the motel, and get our stuff. I'm ready to put this town behind us." With his head hung low, he headed for the Impala.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam watched as his brother packed his stuff, throwing things in his duffel haphazardly in an attempt to get it over with as quickly as possible. He knew his brother didn't want to leave, would give anything to stay, but his heart was broken in so many pieces, he just didn't know what else to do.

"What about Beth, Dean?" he asked, trying to carefully broach the subject. "You can't just leave her. It's not her fault."

Dean turned on him, glaring at him through red glassy eyes. "What do you want me to do, Sammy? Go have sex with her again, and then say, hey forgot to mention you're dead and need to move on?"

"No, but you could at least say goodbye. She deserves that much at least."

"What about me? What do I deserve?" Dean angrily threw his duffel aside and kicked a crumpled pair of his jeans across the room to land against the far wall. "I can't be the one to tell her . . . I don't want her to be gone. I love her, and I don't want her to go."

Sam nodded in understanding. "Then I'll do it for you."


	14. Chapter 14

_so, only two more chappies left to post after this one...thanks for reading and reviewing!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Fourteen_

Sam found Beth sitting in her usual spot, slowly walked up to her, and crouched beside her. "Hey, Beth." He smiled awkwardly and then lowered his head, finding it hard to look at her, knowing he was about to break her heart.

"Hi, Sam." She smiled back, and then looked beyond him, searching for Dean. "Where's your brother?"

"He — he couldn't come." Her smile faded to a frown at the tone of his voice, and he struggled to remain strong for her.

"Not coming? Why? He told me he'd be here."

Looking up into her green eyes, he saw all the love she felt for his brother reflected in them, and his resolve wavered. "He just couldn't make it right now, and asked me to stop by so you wouldn't worry."

"Oh, is he gonna come later?" Her beautiful smile returned as she set her sketchbook aside to give him her full attention.

"I think he's gonna try." He lowered his head again, not liking the idea of lying to her, and noticed the sketch she'd drawn of Dean, and was amazed by the perfect likeness of it to his brother. Through her drawing, she'd lovingly captured the essence of Dean's soul, and it sadden Sam all the more that they couldn't be together. "You really love him, don't you?"

"I've never loved anyone like I love Dean."

"I'm sure he feels the same way."

"Sam," she hesitated, tears forming in her eyes, and looked back toward the path Sam had just come from, "you came to say goodbye for him, didn't you?"

A tight knot formed in Sam's throat, and he found he couldn't say the words that would shatter her heart. In the end, all he could do was nod in reply. He watched helplessly as she brushed away the tears slipping down her cheeks, wanting to comfort her, but didn't know how.

"He loves you, Beth . . . loves you more than anything. It's just — "

"You don't have to say anything," she said in a low almost inaudible voice, "said he couldn't give me more, and what with the life he leads, I understand."

Somewhat shocked by her response, he quirked a brow and pointedly asked, "He told you about what we do?"

"Yeah, he did."

Raising his brows till the hid beneath his shaggy hair, Sam looked at her, and realized she believed Dean, and it didn't bother her that they hunted. "You really don't mind, do you?"

She shrugged. "Why should I? I think there are things out there that are unexplainable, and if they're evil, I'd liked to think there are people who would protect others from them." Beth was quiet for a moment as she clasped her hands together and looked out at the lake, and then added, "He really does hate them, doesn't? I mean, I can't blame him for it, with what happened to your parents, but are they all bad?"

Sam didn't know quite how to answer that, and not include her in the mix. Dean had spent almost his entire life hating anything supernatural, and now the one thing he loved above all else was the one thing he'd sworn to destroy.

"Not all of them," he began, choosing his words carefully so as not to upset her any further. "Sometimes when people die they just don't realize it, and carry on living their lives, continuously repeating what they know. They don't mean to hurt anyone, so I would say they aren't bad."

Shivering slightly, Beth wrapped her blanket closely around her legs as she continued to look out over the water, and Sam began to wonder if there wasn't some small part of her that knew she'd died.

"So what do you do about them? Salt and burn them as well?"

"Sometimes, but most of the time, they just need to complete some unfinished business, and then they can move on."

"Unfinished business?"

"Something in life they left undone, and it's keeping them tied to this world."

"And what if they can't?"

Again, Sam didn't know quite how to answer Beth's question without including her in with all the other spirits they had salted and burned in the past. "I would say as long as they aren't hurting anyone, we would just leave them alone."

"It seems kinda sad. . . ." her voice trailed off as she looked Sam in the eyes, her own shimmering with tears.

"What do you mean?"

"That someone could think their life so incomplete that they refused to move on once they've died."

"Yeah, it does," Sam said as he glanced in the direction of the motel, desperately wanting to leave before he hurt her more than she was already hurting. Hitching a thumb over his shoulder, he muttered, "Look, I gotta get going. Are you gonna be okay if I leave?"

"Uh-huh . . . I'll be okay," she said as she brushed away the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. "But will you tell Dean something for me?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I can do that for ya."

"Tell him I understand, and that I meant what I said. And tell him that I'll never forget him . . . and that I – I — just make sure he understands that I don't blame him."

"I will, Beth," he hesitated for a moment, seeing just how broken-hearted she was, and then added, "and for what's it's worth, I can see why he loves you so much."

"Thanks, Sam, it means a lot."

Sam stood, and started to walk away, but after a moment, he turned back and saw her trembling as she softly wept. He wanted to say something, wanted to comfort her in her sadness, but knew it was something Dean was supposed to do, and silently cursed under his breath for all the pain Edgar had caused both of them. Slowly he turned back, and trudged back to the motel.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"You can drive, Sammy," Dean said as he handed Sam the keys to the car.

"You're kidding, right? Since when don't you want to drive?" Sam asked incredulously, not quite believing what he was hearing. He'd thought after all that happened, Dean would want nothing more than to be behind the wheel of his baby so he could momentarily block out all things that were burning him up inside.

"Just don't feel like driving." Dean threw his duffel in the trunk, slammed the lid, headed to the passenger's side and slid into the seat, shutting the door behind him.

Sam stood at the back of the car for a moment longer, watching as Dean slumped down in his seat. With his head hung low, Dean brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes, and Sam's heart went out to his brother knowing how much pain he was in. Sam didn't want to further add to the sadness Dean was feeling by telling him what Beth had said, but he'd promised, and knew that Dean would want to know. So as he walked around to the driver's side and got in, he gathered his courage to broach the subject.

Turning the key in the ignition, Sam gave a sideway glance over at his brother, and noticed him looking toward the park. "She'll be there if you've changed your mind," he said, and instantly regretted it when Dean swung to glare at him angrily. "I just meant she's not going anywhere, and Dean . . . well, she loves you, Dean, and you're really not being fair to her. She never meant to hurt you."

"You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," Dean snapped, and then returned his attention to looking out the side window. "You have no idea how I'm feelin' so don't pretend like you do."

"Maybe not, but I know she says she understands why you're leaving without so much as a goodbye, and says she doesn't blame you for it," Sam countered, not about to let him think he was the only one suffering. "And I also know that she was crying her heart out when I left her there alone, and I can't see anything vengeful in that. She's not like other spirits, Dean . . . she just wanted to be loved . . . and she wanted to love you."

After a long pause, Dean let out a deep sigh, and said, "I love her, Sam. Love her so much it scares me — an' I don't know how to let her go, an' I wish I never met her cause how the hell am I supposed to live without her now that I have."

"I dunno," Sam said as he put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot onto the street. "Wish I could tell ya, but it does get easier as time goes on. Doesn't hurt so much."

"Don't want it to get easier. Just want to be with her . . . want to make her happy."

"I know you do, but you have to let her go, Dean. She doesn't belong here anymore."

Taking a quick left onto Lovewell's Pond Road, Sam drove past the Town Hall, and took a right on Pine Street, not exactly sure where Dean wanted to go, but wanted to give his brother enough time to change his mind if he decided to. He took another right, and soon after another, and out of the corner if his eye saw his brother shake his head.

"You do realize, you just drove in a complete circle, don't you?"

"Yeah, figured I'd — "

"Wait stop here."

Sam slammed on the brakes, tires screeching as he veered off to the side of the road and came to a stop. Leaning forward, he glanced out the window at all the storefronts lining up and down Main Street, and couldn't understand why Dean would want him to stop.

"I have to do something," Dean said, opening the car door, "and I need you to do something for me."

Raising a quizzical brow, Sam curiously stared at his brother, wondering why he was being so secretive, but figured if Dean wanted him to know what he was doing he would tell him. "Sure, what do you want me to do?"

"I need you to get me a dozen roses . . . pink roses. And they have to be perfect. Absolutely perfect, and I don't care where you have to go to find them . . . I just need them to be perfect."

"Yeah, think I can do that." Sam managed a smile of reassurance for his brother, knowing how hard it would be for him to face Beth again.

"Thanks. Meet me back here in a few hours," he said as he got out of the car.

"Alright."

Dean shut the door, and headed down the street, leaving Sam to wonder where he was headed. But as he drove away to find a florist, he knew that he would find out soon enough.


	15. Chapter 15

_so one more chappy to go after this one...this chappy just really broke my heart to write, lol, hard to write through tears...so, i guess there should be a kleenex warning...thanks for reading and for the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Fifteen_

Sam ended up going to three florists before he'd finally found the perfect pink roses for Dean to give to Beth, and was actually quite pleased with himself for not getting the first bouquet of flowers he'd come across in the first shop. Upon reflection, he realized his brother would have sent him straight back to buy different flowers if he had showed up with those, and was glad he'd changed his mind at the last moment.

When he swung back by to pick his brother up, Dean was leaning against a street lamp, waiting for him. Sam was even more puzzled because his brother wasn't carrying any sort of packages, and he thought surely that he would be.

Dean opened the door, slid into the seat beside Sam, and shut the door. "You got the flowers?" was the first thing out of his mouth as he looked around to the backseat, and smiled when he saw them. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Not a problem," he said as he stared long and hard at his older brother's haggard appearance. His eyes were red-rimmed and there was a sadness about them that Sam had never seen before, and that was saying a lot for all Dean had suffered in his life. "You gonna tell me what this is all about?"

"No, it's just somethin' I gotta do on my own."

"I understand." Sam wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone in this, and would be there for him, but knew it wasn't what his brother wanted to hear at the moment. There would be time enough later to say all the things his brother needed to hear, but for now he would just stand by him, and hopefully catch him as his world came crashing down around him.

They drove back to the park in silence, and as they pulled into the parking lot, Sam turned to Dean, and asked, "You want me to wait here?"

Dean was silent for a moment, and Sam noticed the play of emotions that crossed his face, but at the forefront was the kind of sadness that touched the very depths of his soul. Again it was in his heart to shelter his older brother from the kind of pain he knew he was suffering from, but knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

"No, not yet," Dean simply replied, grabbing the flowers from the back seat, and then got out of the car.

Sam followed and they walked in silence toward Beth. As they approached her, Sam noticed the slight tremor in the hand Dean held the roses in. "You don't have to do this, Dean," he said, realizing that as long as she was here, Dean would never really have to lose her, even if they couldn't be together. "She said she understood. Why don't we just leave it at that?"

"Can't do that, Sammy. It's not right, and it's not fair to her."

When they were within a few feet of her, Dean glanced in Sam's direction, and Sam knew instinctively that his brother meant to go the rest of the way alone, and so he drew back and waited.

Dean slowly approached Beth, and when he was beside her, he knelt and held out the flowers to her. "Hey, Beth."

Beth glanced up at him, and he saw the look of surprise clearly register in her eyes. "Dean, you're walking . . . you're here. I didn't think you'd . . . ." her voice trailed off as a smile graced her face.

"I couldn't leave you, Beth. I said always," he cleared his throat, swallowing back the painful lump that had settled there, "and I meant always."

She arched a delicate brow as she reached out and tenderly caressed his cheek, and he leaned his face into her hand. "Sam said you were leaving."

"Beth . . . will you come to the waterfalls with me?" he asked, without responding to her question.

At first she smiled, and then looked beyond Dean to where Sam was standing, and a frown creased her brow. "Why?" she asked nervously.

"There's just something I have to tell you, and I'd rather do it there."

"Alright, Dean, I'll go with you," she said as she took the flowers he'd brought for her.

Gently, he gathered her up into his arms, and carried her away from her wheelchair, knowing she wouldn't need it anymore. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and laid her head on his chest, and he lowered his to hers.

To Dean it seemed as if it was the longest walk he'd ever taken, and yet as he reached his destination at the falls it felt as if it were over in a blink of an eye. His heart ached with overwhelming sadness, knowing their time was coming to an end. He lightly set her down on the boulder where they'd made love, and hugged her to him, not ready yet to let her go.

"Dean, what's the matter," she asked, pulling away from him.

"Beth," he began, but then wavered, his heart catching in his throat as he looked into her beautifully innocent green eyes.

"What's wrong, Dean? You're scaring me."

"I'm just not ready. . . ." his voice trailed off again as he lowered his head, and took her hand in his.

"Not ready for what?" she asked as she lifted his chin so that he met her gaze.

"Not ready to let you go . . . but I know I have to."

"Why do you have to?" Tears brimmed in her eyes as she asked this, and slid down her cheeks unchecked.

Closing his eyes to block out the image of her sadness, he uttered in a voice just above a whisper, "Because you don't belong here."

"I don't understand," she said, and he could hear the tremor in her softly spoken voice.

"Beth," he licked his suddenly dried lips, and then forced the next words out, "sometimes people get lost . . . they don't know the way. It's not there fault, they just don't realize it." His gaze found hers once more, and he saw her confusion. "They . . . die and they just don't know it."

"No," she shook her head, swallowing hard, "that's not true. I can't be . . . I would know. I would, Dean."

Dean pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, and handed it to her. As she looked at the article, her tears came in earnest, and he pulled her to him, and gently kissed her lips.

"You drowned in the lake a little over eight years ago. That's why you keep coming back here. It's — it's what you know."

"How could I not know . . . and we . . . oh, my God, Dean, we . . . you must hate me . . . you have to hate me. How can you even touch me," she pulled away from him, and pushed further back on the boulder. "I'm so sorry . . . oh, God, I'm so sorry."

Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her back to him. "I don't regret meeting you, Beth. And I'll never regret loving you, but I have to let you go so you can move on."

Beth nodded in understanding, her face crumpling as more tears sprung to her eyes, and Dean lightly brushed them away.

"So how do I find my way?" she bravely asked, then lowered her head, broken-hearted.

"Not yet, Beth . . . I'm not ready for you to leave yet."

"Why?"

Dean reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small blue box. Dropping down onto one knee, he looked up into her eyes, and smiled. "Beth, who was named for a Kiss song, who stole my heart without even trying, who taught me that my life wasn't any less important just because I couldn't walk, who I love more than life itself, will you marry me?" He opened the box, and took out a silver band, and waited for her response.

She smiled briefly, and then her face faltered. "We can't, Dean . . . it's not right."

"Who's to say it's not?" He swallowed back his own tears, wanting to be strong for her, but found it almost impossible to do so. "I want to marry you, and I don't want to let you go until I know you'll be waiting for me. So will you please marry me?"

Beth was quiet for a long time, and then gave a quick nod. "Yes, Dean Dean Winchester, who's parents gave him the same middle name as his first, I'll marry you."

"I was hoping you'd see things my way," he said, with a genuine smile.

He stood and took her hands in his, his smile widening as she grinned and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I, Dean Winchester, take you, Beth Carlson to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, from now until forever." He placed the ring on her finger as he nervously bit at his lower lip.

Beth glanced down at the ring, and then a worried expression settled on her face. "Dean, I don't have a ring for you. How will you remember me if you don't have one . . . I have to have a ring for you."

"I thought you might say that." Yanking the silver ring off his finger, he handed it to her. "Read the inscription on the inside."

Turning the ring to the side, she read it aloud, "Beth, forever in my heart," and cried even harder.

"You'll always be with me, Beth. Always in my heart. I'll never again love anyone like I love you." He wiped away the tears slipping down his cheeks, and then continued, "Now I want to kiss my bride, so we need to finish this ceremony."

Through her tears, Beth smiled, her green eyes glistening with all the love she felt in her heart for Dean. "I, Beth Carlson, take you, Dean Winchester to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, from now until forever." She lovingly placed the ring back on his finger, and gazed intently at him.

"I now pronounce us, man and wife, and what God has brought together, let no man put asunder." He took her in his arms, leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against hers, and as the kiss deepened he felt her slipping away, and held on all the tighter, not wanting her to go. "Don't go yet . . . please, just stay a little longer," he whispered against her lips as she began to fade away. "I'm not ready for you to leave me behind . . . I love you, Beth . . . love you so damn much. . . . "

Dean slumped to the ground, leaned back against the boulder, and drew his knees up to rest his arms on them. Lowering his head, he sat like that for the longest time, not wanting to leave, and even as the sky began to darkened, he didn't have the will to go.

"Dean," came Sam's quiet understanding voice, and he glanced up at him through bleary eyes.

"I — her wheelchair disappeared . . . and I just thought. . . ." his voice trailed off as he sat beside Dean.

"Yeah, she's gone," Dean reluctantly forced the words from his mouth.

"I'm so sorry, Dean. I wish things could have been different."

Toying with the ring on his finger, Dean sadly replied, "So do I, Sammy."

Together, they sat liked that in silence until the forest grew darker. Finally, Dean stood, and Sam followed suit.

"You ready to go?" Sam asked, eyes wide with understanding.

"Not yet," Dean said as he pulled his knife out of his pocket, and began to carve into the boulder. When he was finished, he stood back to make sure it said exactly what he wanted it to say.

Sam turned to look at Dean, confusion clearly evident in his expression. "Dean Winchester will love Beth Winchester from now until forever? I don't understand?"

"Couldn't let her go, until I knew she was mine forever," he said, and slowly walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

_so, last chappy!! Hope this story didn't disappoint as i have never written a romance type story before. So this chappy broke my heart, and i have to admit i was tearing up again as i proofed it to post...so I guess there should be another kleenex warning...thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!! Should i ever attempt another romance tpye story or steer far clear from it?? bambers;)_

_Chapter Sixteen_

Understanding that Dean wasn't ready to leave Beth behind yet, Sam checked them back into the same motel they'd just checked out of. And over the next few days, he waited and watched for his brother to break down. Dean had went off on his own on several occasions, and Sam knew where he'd gone to, and gave him the space and time he needed to try and make sense of things.

On their third night there, Sam silently stood by as his brother headed out the door with a twelve pack of beer in hand, and after a short time decided to follow. By the time he'd reached the waterfalls, Dean already had two empty beer bottles lined up on the boulder, and was quickly downing his third.

Dean silently handed him a beer, and Sam cracked it open, took a quick gulp, and set it aside. Turning to look at his brother, Sam saw Dean's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and that he was so lost in his own grief that he could see nothing else.

"Dean, Beth wouldn't want you to give up like this. She would want you to be happy."

Setting aside his empty bottle, Dean grabbed another beer and twisted off the cap, and hastily downed it. Sam glanced down at the roses in Dean's lap that were starting to wilt and lose their petals, and his heart broke all the more for his brother. He didn't know the right words to make everything okay again, and truthfully thought that even if he did, he doubted Dean would listen to him.

So he began with the only thing he did know, "When I lost Jess, I didn't want to go on . . . it hurt so much to even breathe knowing she wasn't doing the same. And I hated everyone and everything, until there was nothing left inside me but the need for revenge. But it didn't make her come back . . . and I know it doesn't mean much for me to say this, but it does get easier."

"Don't want it to get easier, Sammy . . . easier would mean she's beginning to fade to just a memory, an' I don't want her to just be a memory." he took another swig of his beer, and then angrily threw it at a tree. The bottle smashed, pieces of glass flying everywhere as a stain of beer spread down over the rough bark.

"I know, I felt the same way about Jess . . . God, I still feel the same way about her, but you can't let it take your life away from you, Beth wouldn't want that. She loved you, Dean, and I know you loved her too, so don't do that to her memory."

Dean lowered his head as he ran his fingers over the roses, petals scattering in the wind. "When we were in the graveyard that first night, Edgar said something to me. I only just recalled it as I was sitting here, and you were right, Sam, he wasn't trying to hurt me. He was tryin' to give me a gift . . . I think he knew I needed Beth as much as she needed me."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he peered at his brother, confused by his brother's words. "What did he say?"

"He said, 'a life no less important. It's my gift to you. Don't waste what has been given to you. You'll regret it if you do'. And it's really kinda hard to believe that a spirit knew what I needed when even I didn't."

"That's really not all that hard to believe, Dean. You spend so much of your life looking out for everyone else that you never take the time to consider yourself."

Glancing heavenward, Dean asked, "Do you think she knows, Sammy . . . really knows. . . ." his voice trailed off as he glanced back at Sam.

"Knows what?"

"How — how much I loved her . . . would've given anything to spend the rest of my life with her. Would've died for her."

"Yeah, Dean. I think she knows," Sam smiled, "anyone who knows you, knows that if you decide to give your heart away, there's no halfway with you . . . you love them completely and totally, and I'm sure Beth knew that."

Dean nodded, seemingly accepting his answer. "Think she'll wait for me?"

"Think she'd be crazy not to."

Dean smiled, but it didn't reach the depths of his eyes, and Sam knew it would be a long time before it did, but it was a start, and he was happy for it.

"Okay, Sammy, I'm ready to leave, but I wanna stop by the cemetery first."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam waited in the Impala as Dean stopped by Edgar's grave on his way to Beth's. Dean clutched firmly onto the roses he'd brought for her as he knelt beside Edgar's broken headstone. He was quiet for a long time, figuring out what he wanted to say, and then finally began.

"Not real good at this, especially with your being a dead guy an' all, but I wanted to thank you." A light breeze swept past him, and he felt a lightness in his heart that he hadn't felt since Beth had gone, and knew it was Edgar's way of thanking him for setting her free. "Just wanted to let you . . . well, wanted you to know I didn't waste the gift you gave me. And for what it's worth, I think Beth forgives you for what happened to her."

The wind suddenly stilled, and Dean heard a loud crack as Edgar's headstone broke into even more pieces. A swirl of gray mist floated upward from it, hovered above Dean for a moment and then drifted away to mingle with the clouds.

"Yeah," he nodded, "she definitely forgave you."

He stood, and walked through the trees to where he knew Beth's grave was, and dropped to his knees beside it. Placing the flowers down on the grass, he turned and rested his back against the cold gray marble.

"Beth," he began in a slightly strained voice, "just wanted you to know that you made me happier in the short amount of time that I'd known you, than anyone else ever possibly could. You touched my heart in places I didn't even know existed, an' I don't know how move on without you." He brushed away the single tear that slipped down his cheek. "An' I don't want to say goodbye . . . and I don't want to leave, knowing that I won't see you again, an' I need you to wait for me."

"Dean," came a softly whispered voice on the wind, and Dean glanced up and saw Beth's shimmery transparent image hovering beside him. She reached out and touched his face, and he leaned into her hand. "I'll wait for you, Dean . . . Always."

"I love you, Beth, from now until forever," he said, and watched as she faded away.


End file.
